Drag Her From Heaven, Drag Him From Hell
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: After Jo's death, Dean is desperate to get her back. Reunited, their happiness is short lived when something goes terribly wrong. Can Jo save Dean or are they doomed to have a love that will forever be wrong place, wrong time? Multi-chapter Dean/Jo.
1. Prologue: The Butterfly Effect

**Warning:** Possible spoilers up through Season 5's _Abandon All Hope._

**A/N: **For my Dean/Jo 'shippers, especially **Silverspoon **and **WelshWitch1011**, who've been itching for me to do a multichapter fic. Sam, Tori - This one's for you. Y'all _really_ need to learn to be careful what you wish for.

As a housekeeping matter, I'll be tying in bits from my _**If Only For Tonight...**_and _**Can't Fight This Feeling**_. It's not important that you've read those, but it may help as I am going to be veering away from cannon.

Many thanks to **stephaniew** for her friendship, betaing and willingness to take this idea through. I might have shelved this idea without her encouragement and help jumping over the hurdles my muse tried to throw at me. Check out her stories and see how, like Jo, her OC keeps Dean on his toes.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Prologue: The Butterfly Effect

The idea that something as simple as the flutter of a butterfly's wings could change history was originally brought to light by Ray Bradbury in his short story _A Sound of Thunder_. It wasn't until almost a decade later that the term "butterfly effect" was popularized by meteorologist Edward Lorenz, who claimed that the flapping of wings could alter the course or pattern of weather. Though the consequences and locations of occurrences have changed as the theory has made its way through different circles, one thing has remained constant - the image of wings setting something in motion that ripples across time.

Everything happens for a reason. It may be for good. It may be for bad. The point is it happens. Call it fate, luck, providence; call it whatever the hell you want - it's something different to everyone. Whether it's a spilled cup of coffee that makes you run five minutes late or being born into a family of hunters, tiny little details can have a serious impact on your life.

Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. There's plenty of story before where we pick up this tale and there'll be plenty more to come long after it's done. Because life - _love_ - is the greatest story of all.

This story begins in 1985. _Back to the Future _was the top grossing movie in the US and compact discs were introduced to American consumers. REO Speedwagon's _Can't Fight This Feeling _was the number one song for the month of March and number twelve for the year on Billboard's Top 100.

More importantly, on Sunday, April 7, in small town Nebraska, hunters William and Ellen Harvelle welcomed their only child - a daughter - into the world. Truly her mama's baby girl, Joanna Beth was a bit of a tom boy. Far from typical, she was never much for the color pink or fairy tales. When your parents are hunters, you become all too familiar with things that go bump in the night. You learn all too early that stories and fables never get the monsters quite right. And then there's the most devastating lesson of all - there are no happy endings.

Harvelle, a surname meaning woman warrior. And that was what she would become. Standing a mere 5'4" tall, she was no Amazon but she was tougher than iron nails. Though pretty, she was far from classically beautiful. She had dark, wide-set eyes and honey-blonde hair that curled softly down her back.

She was more denim than lace, hustling pool as soon as she could see over the table and learning everything she could from the hunters who frequented the family's Roadhouse. She had Bill's penchant for getting into trouble and Ellen's stubborn streak. She'd shoot guns as quickly as she'd shoot off her mouth.

The day Jo Harvelle first laid eyes on Dean Winchester, she'd pressed a shotgun into his back and punched him in the mouth before introductions were made. Jo was nobody's fool. She didn't believe in heroes in shining armor riding in on white horses. She believed in independence and, having been raised by a strong-willed woman, believed that men and women should be equals.

Tales of the Winchester family were legendary. She found herself drawn to Dean despite his reputation. He wasn't a knight in shining armor, nor did he ride into her life on a white steed. He was flawed and rough around the edges, tarnished beyond repair. And his horse? Try the power of 275 of them roaring beneath the hood of his black 1967 Chevy Impala.

He wasn't the kind of man she was used to. They'd bickered and flirted. He'd flashed her a devilish smile - or six - that hadn't quite reached far enough to cover the sadness housed in his sparkling green eyes. But, at the end of the day, he hadn't tried to get into her pants with a six pack of cheap beer and side one of Zeppelin IV. Instead, he'd just smiled and said "wrong place, wrong time."

For a while they did more falling out than falling together. Emotions ran high at the discovery that Dean's father may have contributed to the death of her own. But it was his guilt over his brother's treatment of Jo while possessed by a demon that seemed to drive them apart completely. That and his desire to somehow right his father's wrong against the Harvelle family by not leading Jo into the path of destruction that plagued the Winchester name.

Several years would pass before they'd meet again. The Roadhouse burned to the ground, taking the life of her friend Ash with it. Dean died and was resurrected by the angel Castiel. Against her mother's wishes, Jo started hunting on her own. Back from Hell, Dean was made to confront his inner demons and the torment of what he was forced to do while in the pit.

When they join forces again, it's in the face of the impending apocalypse. Dean and Sam were running down the four horsemen and collecting their rings. Jo and Ellen joined the brothers in their quest and, together, the four would face demon possession and go up against War.

After breaking the horseman's spell over them, it's not until a chilly night in November that Jo squares off with Dean again. It's the night before Death will be summoned to earth. The night before Dean and Sam will face off with the devil himself.

The buzz of alcohol humming in the air between them, they'd stand inches apart as he used a line that he'd used on other women. A line that had worked so many times before. One that, to this day, he's not sure why he allowed to pass his lips in her direction.

She'd laughed and asked if he was giving her the end of the world speech. The girl in her - the one that's had a crush on Dean almost from the moment they met - is ready to give up her panties, surrendering to his charm. The woman in her - the one who's stubborn as the day is long and refused to settle - is the one that turns him down.

And that's where the butterfly comes into play. Unable to sleep, Jo made a choice. It was a choice that had long term ramifications, setting in motion an unforeseen series of events. It wasn't fated to happen that way - they were never meant to be together - but a silk-spun thread, one softer than the angel's feather it was woven from - snagged. Joanna Beth did something no one saw coming. She exercised free-will in a moment when those watching over her were temporarily blinded.

You see, like any good warrior, she had strength. She had strength and the courage to take risks. Having the courage to stand up and fight for something you want is never a mistake. Taking a different path, turning a door knob - like the wings of a butterfly, or, perhaps, an angel - could change history.

The night Jo Harvelle crept from her bed and melted into Dean Winchester's arms - the night before her death - changed her fate and the fates of those around her. And if you truly believe that Joanna Beth Harvelle's story ended with her life at the claws of a hellhound in Carthage, Missouri, you'd be wrong. Her purpose was - _is_ - far greater than that.


	2. Ch 1: What Dreams May Come

**A/N: **First a housekeeping matter: is there a day you'd like me consider updating? Or would you prefer random updates as I finish chapters? I update my other on-going fic on Mondays, if I set a particular day I'm leaning toward Thursdays or Fridays.

As requested by the lovely **WelshWitch1011**: **Tissue Warning:** the following chapter may require Kleenex...

To my friend, confidant and writing partner, **stephaniew** - thank you for all your support, I couldn't do this without you. Are you reading Steph's fics? If I need a tissue warning, she needs a spice warning...she likes it hot.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter One: What Dreams May Come

Two weeks, four days and six hours. That's how long she's been gone.

Dean Winchester's no stranger to death. It's not like he hasn't witnessed plenty of candles being snuffed out too soon, lives cut well short of the length of their wicks. His own parents are prime examples of it.

But this was different. She'd been trying to save him. Short of family and a wayward angel, he isn't used to that. He isn't used to the kind of salvation she'd given him, the depth of her feelings going beyond need to protect blood or further a cause.

No, this was far more than that. It wasn't about obligation and it wasn't about lust or even desire. It was, however, quite possibly about love. The feelings were surprising and new. He wasn't aware that anyone could have the kind of pull on his heartstrings she had.

He may know death, but Dean is a stranger to love. Losing his mother at four and being forced to raise his baby brother as their father poured himself into hunting and bourbon had hardened him. He was afraid. Afraid to show weakness by allowing someone close enough. Afraid that he wouldn't ever be able to feel something other than emptiness and pain. Afraid that he didn't deserve the chance to be happy.

Only that was before. That was before Jo Harvelle had stolen into his bed that fateful night, moonlight dancing across her hair and bathing her skin in a soft glow. It was before her lips slid against his and his heart started pounding, a warm rush of blood chasing away the doubts in his head. It was before he had woken up alone in sheets that were still warm and carried her scent.

He'd steeled himself in front of the mirror, giving himself a pep-talk on convincing her that it wasn't the end of the world. Telling himself that they could make it work. That they honest to God had a shot.

But he hadn't been able to get her alone. Ellen had clung to her daughter all morning. Jo had ridden with her mother and Castiel into Carthage. They'd been surrounded by reapers one minute and hellhounds the next. He'd fallen and watched in horror as she'd raised her shotgun taking out the invisible beast that attacked him. The agony of her screams tore through him more deeply than the animals claws and teeth.

He'd carried her into the little hardware store but he couldn't save her. There was too much blood. She was far too pale. His throat was closing. He'd been an ass to wait. Now was the wrong place. It was the wrong time. Too late for confessions and too unfair to let her know.

So, he'd kissed her. He'd taken her lips beneath his with fierce passion. He'd let the words pass through his eyes and his touch. They spilled into her mouth and rinsed his eyes with moisture.

Then the explosion. The oppressive heat of the bomb that hung in the air. The smell of burning plastic and gasoline. The sound of shattering glass that hardly compared to the cracked pieces of heart. But the worst was the bitter taste of iron on the tip of his tongue; the bitter flavor of Jo's blood clouding the memories of their final moments together.

The pain of losing her was worse than that inflicted by the hellhounds who'd shredded them both. It was worse than the raging heat of Dante's Inferno and all of the torture he'd suffered. But he couldn't lose focus. He didn't have time to think about it - about her. Racing against time, he and Sam had taken the Colt and gone after Lucifer.

It wasn't until later he'd really had time to think about it. A week ago, he'd tried to pick up a woman in a bar. She'd been more than willing, but he couldn't go through with it. Sam had found him in a drunken heap on the floor in the burnt out carcass of the old Roadhouse.

He'd been rejecting women ever since. No one would measure up. He wondered but didn't dare ask Sam if this was how he felt after Jessica.

Being with Jo just once had ruined him. He could still taste her, still feel the curves of her body beneath his hands. And the breathy way she moaned his name into his mouth as she'd come would forever ring in his ears. Never before had he considered maybe or what might've been.

Not until Joanna Beth Harvelle was taken from him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dean tosses in his sleep. Kicking at the covers, he runs after something - someone - in the shadows of his mind. But it's not just anyone. It's Jo. The woman who has haunted his dreams and stolen into his waking thoughts many times since her death.

He catches her hand and she turns to face him. Her chocolate eyes and candy pink lips smile up at him. He stares at her for a moment. Unmoving, unspeaking. Just being with her and taking her in.

"You all right there, Dean-O?" she teases. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

He snaps out of the fog and pulls her into his arms. She's warm and firm as he cradles her against his chest. Her skin is rosy, her eyes sparkle with spirit and life.

She pokes him in the ribs. "Are we done with the chick-flick part?" she mocks. "You gonna kiss me or not, Winchester?"

He strokes over her face with his thumb, but doesn't kiss her right away. Instead, he dusts his lips over her forehead and tip her nose before carefully plucking at her mouth with his own.

Jo rolls her eyes at him. "We both know you can do so much better than that, Dean," she whispers against his lips. Pushing up on tiptoe, she presses firmly against him. She melts into his mouth like ice in the summer sun, her tongue teasing softly.

With a groan, he kisses her back. He takes everything she offers him and matches it with a tender heat. Whimpering, he pushes against the brick wall of the alleyway to support them both as their knees quake beneath them. He strokes over her cheek, his hand slipping into the honey-colored silk of her hair before traveling over her arm and curling around her waist.

The kiss continues and Dean feels a dull ache building in his chest. As it grows into a burn, he knows he needs air, but he can't bear to separate his mouth from hers for even a moment. Tomorrow night he might not catch her. Tomorrow night, when she comes to him, it may be to die in his arms yet again. He holds fast and true to this glimmering moment of happiness, knowing it will be brief.

He swallows a pained sob and feels Jo shiver in his grip. His hand grows warm and wet. It's happened again. Pulling back, he sees her eyes growing cold as her skin turns ashen.

"Why, Dean?" she asks, the sadness of her voice ripping a hole in his chest and squeezing his heart. "Why couldn't you save me? Why did I have to die for you?"

He feels the blood rushing out of her body under his palm. Feels Jo's body as it crumples, sliding down against the wall. He cradles her, pressing kisses to her forehead and murmuring hushed nothings into the crown of her hair.

He doesn't know why. He doesn't understand why.

He hears the rattle of her breath as it escapes her parted lips. He's forced to watch as, once again, the light fades from her eyes as it has on so many other nights. "Jo?" he whispers, shaking her. "Jo!"

Screaming in the darkness, Dean bolts upright in bed. His body is bathed in sweat, it soaks his t-shirt and drips down his brow. His heart is pounding and his breathing is heavy.

He feels the dip of the bed as Sam sits next to him. "Another nightmare?" his younger brother asks sleepily. "Dean, you..."

Dean rakes his hand through his hair. "Sammy, I swear if you tell me I need help, I'm gonna gank you," he barks.

Sam sighs heavily. This isn't the first time they've had this discussion and it won't be the last. He tries a new approach, flicking on the bedside lamp he stares at his brother. "You look like hell."

"Shut your pie hole," Dean snarls, his brow furrowing. "How the hell would you know anyway? It's not like you've been there."

"Jo wouldn't have wanted this," Sam tells him. "She wouldn't have wanted you pouring yourself into a bottle of whiskey every night we weren't hunting."

Dean throws back the covers and climbs from the other side of the bed. "Yeah, well, what about what _I_ want?" he yells. "She should've let me die Sam. She and Ellen would still be here and..."

"And I'd have lost the only family I had left. Quit blaming yourself, Dean," he growls. "It's not going to bring Jo back."

"Then find another way, Sam," Dean says. For the first time since he awakened from his nightmare, his voice is calm and steady. "Find a way to get her back. _We_ need her. _I_ need her..."


	3. Ch 2: How Do You Talk To An Angel?

**A/N: **My muse is currently rather obsessed with this story...and I'm afraid can't promise that updates will remain this frequent.

For my pal **WelshWitch1011 **- If this one doesn't brighten your day...umm...well, sorry? I can promise Chapter 3 will. ;)

Special thanks to **stephaniew**. Fortunately, friendship doesn't come with price tags, because I couldn't afford her. Show her some love for putting up with me and my scatterbrained muse? Check out her stories...especially my personal favorite - _**Confession**_!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Two: How Do You Talk to an Angel?

Dean paces the study of the aging house adjacent to the scrapyard. He holds a worn leather-bound book against one forearm while clicking the top of a pen compulsively with the hand of the other as it dangles against his side. His brow is furrowed, deep lines etching across his forehead, and his footfall is heavy.

Sam rolls his neck in effort to alleviate the building tension. His eyes fall briefly on the old hunter sitting in his wheelchair behind the oak desk before shifting to glare at his brother in annoyance.

Bobby slams the book in front of him, jarring Dean to a standstill. "Sit your ass down, boy," he snaps with a stern look. "You're wearin' a hole in the damn hardwood and makin' your brother nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room fulla rockers."

Dean eyes both men. Dreading the answer, he asks the question anyway, "Either of you find anything? Anything at all?"

Sam speaks first. "Look, Dean, I know you want her back, okay? I get it. I really do," he begins, leaning back in his chair. Taking a deep breath and sliding a hand through his shaggy hair, he forces the words out. "But, seriously? Come on. We're burning hours we can't afford to lose."

Dean's lips press into a firm and angry line. He grits his teeth. "Sam..." the tone is a warning. The only way it's changed over the years is in the pitch of the growl.

"Sam's right, Dean," Bobby cuts in. He scoots his threadbare trucker's cap back and scratches his forehead. "If we had more time, maybe we could figure this out, but what we got's a big pile a nothin'."

Dean softens a little, his shoulders sagging as his father figure's message seeps in. He knows the old man is right. Everything he's found has said you had to have a physical part of the person or thing you wanted to summon back. Jo's body had been reduced to ash. They didn't have so much as a lock of her hair.

Bobby wheels in the direction of the kitchen. "You two idjiots comin'?" he barks.

Sam gets up to follow, but Dean stays rigidly in place. He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Dean, man, I'm sorry..."

Dean heaves a sigh and closes his book as he moves toward the window. "I miss her, Sammy," he says suddenly. His eyes don't follow his brother. "There are things that..." his voice fades.

He thinks of the times he's woken up from a nightmare in some cheap motel room. He thinks about the night Sam found him at the Roadhouse - the night he was convinced he'd been holding Jo in his arms and dancing with her. "There are things that I realized too late. I'm not ready to let her go."

"But you have to," Sam replies with an uncharacteristic cool. "We've got work to do. It's what Jo would want."

Dean spins around. Throwing the volume to the floor, he shakes his head. "I can't believe you," he fumes. Brushing past his brother, he grabs his jacket and heads for the front door. "What about what we want, huh? Why can't we be happy for once?"

"Dean," Sam calls out. "Dean, wait..."

"No, Sam. Just..." His knuckles are white as they grip the door knob. "Just no."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He leans against the Impala and stares up at the sky. He remembers a similar night. One he's never told a soul about. A night when he and Jo had searched the junkyard for a part for the old piece of shit Plymouth she used to drive.

It wasn't anything sexy. It wasn't like they'd kissed. Well. Not unless you counted...

"_Dammit!" she hissed._

"_What?" he'd lamented with a roll of his eyes. For being one of the guys, sometimes she was a real girl. Even in the dim light of the moon and scattered overhead lamps he could see the pain on her face and the way she shook the fingers on her right hand. "Lemme see," he prodded._

"_Sonuvabitch that hurts," she said._

"_What the hell did you do?" he asked, taking her hand in his._

"_I got it caught in..." Jo's eyes widened as he sucked two of her fingers into his mouth._

_It was random and intimate. The way the lamplight cast a glow over her hair and the surprised "O" formed by her mouth made him want to kiss her. Badly. _

But a voice in his head had told him "no" back then. That kissing her - dragging her deeper into his life - put her at risk. That he'd rather let her think she meant nothing than chance letting her be everything and have it destroy them both.

His eyes brim with unspent tears. A single fat, droplet escapes and drifts down his face. It drips onto the soft flannel of his shirt. "Cas," he cries out into the night. "Cas, if you can..."

The breeze picks up and Dean hears the familiar flutter that accompanies the angel's entrance. "Dean, I'm sorry for your loss."

"What are you? A freaking Hallmark card?" the hunter asks. "Cut it out."

Castiel cocks his head to the side, his brows draw together as he frowns. "I thought it was customary to say that when one has lost someone close to them."

Dean grunts in frustration. "I want her back, Cas," he says, his voice roughened by emotion. "I _need_ her back."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," the angel answers too quickly.

Dean grabs the lapels of his trench coat. They are almost nose to nose. "Then make it possible," he snarls. "With all the shit they want me to do, I want my people. I need Jo and Ellen. And I need Bobby to have his legs back."

"Dean," Cas answers. "I can't..."

"Try, Cas," the sound coming almost on a sob. "I need for you to try." With another _whoosh_, the angel is gone and Dean finds himself alone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dean walks into the kitchen and reaches into the refrigerator. He pulls out a beer and twists off the cap, taking a long pull from the neck of the bottle. He remembers standing here with her not three weeks ago. Their words still echo in his ears.

"_So, dangerous mission tomorrow. Guess it's time to eat, drink and, you know, make merry."_

"_Are you giving me the last night on earth speech?"_

If he knew then what he knew now, he'd have kept her in bed. He'd have taken her hand and run.

Okay, so he _wouldn't_ have done either of those things. But he'd have made damn sure she made it out of Carthage alive.

"We don't have much time," his voice is rushed, almost breathless. "We must go now."

Dean sets his beer on the edge of the table and eyes the angel suspiciously. "Go where exactly?"

"I thought you wanted Joanna back?" he inquires, confusion crossing his features.

Dean licks his lips. "What about Ellen and..."

Cas shakes his head. "It's too dangerous," he answers. "I'm afraid I'm not strong enough without help."

He sighs. "So, what do we do then? How do we...?"

"Close your eyes."

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He smiles because he can see her face. Her lips curl into a delicate smile and she looks at peace. Unlike his nightmares, there is no blood. Not guts. No gore. Just Jo...

There is a gentle pressure as the angel presses his fingertips to Dean's forehead and, in a bright blaze of glory, the two vanish.


	4. Ch 3: A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

**A/N: **I meant to have this up sooner, but I got distracted. First by a silly duck and a tubful of bubbles, then earthquakes with their aftershocks...and then an impending hurricane. I figure I'm okay though, I had the approval of **stephaniew** and **WelshWitch1011 **for the OS and it's not like I can control Mother Nature, right?

Many thanks to each of you have supported this story in one way or another...especially those who have taken the time to drop me a review. I **love** hearing from you, so keep 'em coming!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Three: A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Dean feels the sun on his face and stretches languidly in bed. He scrubs his eyes, clearing the remnants of the best night's sleep he's had since...well, since he can remember.

As he becomes aware of his surroundings, he fumbles to determine his location. The walls are painted yellow. Not a bold, primary yellow, but more of a butter tone. It's cheerful without being overpowering.

The linens are unbelievably soft and warm against his bare skin. They're far more luxurious than anything at Bobby's and a far cry from the sandpaper crap at the motels he frequents. They smell crisp and clean.

Or he thinks it's the sheets. At least until he realizes that there is a blonde head resting against his chest. His eyes fly to the door as he begins to plan an exit strategy. How drunk had he been last night that he'd managed to actually go through with it? How could he have done this to Jo?

The woman snuggles closer to him. Dean feels a long, lean leg curl possessively over his and has to work to quiet his racing heart. This couldn't be happening. The last thing he remembered was being in Bobby's kitchen with Cas and then...

He looks around the room. It's completely quiet. It's intimate and welcoming to the point of making him feel uncomfortable. The light, the colors - everything - is just a little too bright. It's perfect. Too perfect...

She yawns and stretches. He holds his breath as she picks her head up and he comes face to face with the most beautiful pair of brown eyes he's ever seen. A pair he thought he'd never see again.

"Jo?" he whispers, his arms ensnaring her and holding her firmly. His gaze is filled with uncertainty, disbelief.

Jo gulps. It's happened. The thing she was most terrified of. This isn't the Dean-lite version of the man she cares for, it's the _earthly_ version. She wants to kick his ass. She died to save him, to give him a fighting chance to take down the devil. And the stupid sonuvabitch had gone and gotten himself killed.

She pulls away, her arm clutching the sheet to her chest as she nibbles her lip in confusion. Her cheeks bloom with color and she fumbles with what to say to him. How would she ever explain _this_? This heaven and living her fantasy of being with him?

Dean feels as though his heart has stopped beating. He can't bear the frightened and embarrassed look she gives him. "Jo, look, babe, I..." Unsure of himself and the situation he sits up, reaching for her. God, he hadn't felt this lame since he and Susie Stewart had gone all the way in her mother's basement and... He shakes it off. There was _no_ way he was thinking about being in another woman's bed when he was with this woman, the one who...

She clocks him with a pillow. "You dick!" she screams crossly, pummeling him again. "I can't believe you!"

Grabbing a pillow of his own, he attempts to block her assault. "What the hell did I do?" he groans teasingly.

"What part of _later_ did you not understand, Dean? Are you really that dense? I loved you so much I _died _ so that you could..." She freezes. The confession was unplanned and it wasn't meant to pass her lips. Especially not now. Not like this.

He smirks and sets his weapon aside. "You love me," he repeats.

"Yeah," she answers hotly. "Fat lot of good it did, too. Asshole." Jo slams the pillow against him with such force the the side splits open. A shower of downy, white feathers scatters over the room as a look of agony stains her delicate features. "You're dead!"

Suddenly, clarity washes over him and his smile withers. The playful ribbing fades into concern for the pain she's feeling. The depth of the emotions is staggering. He's overwhelmed by the need to reassure and protect.

Strong arms go around her, they pull her close even as she fights against his grip. His mouth trails over her cheek, the soft, fluttery movements end in an unrestrained kiss. Devouring her lips, he hungrily demolishes her defenses.

She stops fighting. Sagging against him, she allows herself to feel everything she couldn't feel as she lay dying. All of the sensations she'd felt the night before rush back as he presses her into the mattress. His weight is tranquilizing. His presence is solid and very real.

Dean's fingers stroke over Jo's cheek and down the line of her jaw. When her eyes flit open, they're filled with questions. He licks his lip but remains over her, his emerald gaze meeting hers. "I'm not dead," he tells her. Unable to resist the plump softness of her kiss-swollen lower lip, he trails his thumb lightly over it.

She's momentarily distracted by the touch, eyelids falling closed before rocketing open and regaining focus. "But you..."

His mouth finds hers with tender possession. Prodding and plucking, he savors every caress. "Cas..." he murmurs between kisses. "I came to bring you back."

She stills placing a hand on his chest to halt his advances. "You mean I..."

Dean nods. Catching her hand, he dusts his mouth over her knuckles before placing it around his neck. "Say yes, Jo," he demands, his hand falling to her hip beneath the covers. He strokes her supple skin gently. There is an urgency that fills his next statement, but it's the plea in the depths of his shining eyes that grabs her. "Say you'll come back to me - _for_ me - because I'm not sure I can stand losing you again."

She swallows. "For how long?" she asks, twisting her head on the pillow. "How long are they giving me?"

"Jo..." he retorts, ready to make an argument. Ready to show her how hard he'll fight - how far he'll go - to be with her. His embrace is unyielding. He holds her as if she will melt from beneath him - fleeing the way she has in his thoughts and dreams - if he lets go.

"How long, Dean? There's a catch. There's always a catch with _them_," she frets.

His jaw tightens, but his eyes remain soft. "Let them try and take you from me again," he growls. His lips crush heavily over hers and he seeks to make up for the weeks they have lost. "I love you, Joanna Beth Harvelle," he breathes against her throat. "I won't lose you again..."

Grinning, she forces him onto his back. Her hands skim over his chest and come to a stop at his shoulders as she looks down at him. The glow in his features - the light that practically radiates from him - tells her it's the truth. "Yes."

It's so quiet, he almost misses it. A slow smile spreads across his face. "Yeah?" he asks hopefully.

She nods eagerly. "Yes," she repeats. "It really doesn't matter for how long, right? I mean..."

Dean's fingers slip into the golden strands of hair that fall in a curtain against his chest. Tugging her mouth onto his, he silences her ramblings with a luscious kiss. His tongue teases at her lips demanding access to her sweetness as his hands slide reverently over her body.

He picks up one of the feathers. The plume is completely unpigmented and it glistens like fresh snow against the creamy skin of her abdomen. He strokes her with it, swirling it in light circles until it drifts over a set of silvery scars. Jo flinches, biting her lip in shame.

The quill floats to rest on her thigh as his fingers replace it. Dean's face is drawn in bewilderment. He thinks of how all of his own scars vanished when he was ripped from Hell in the grip of an angel, surely her delicate skin shouldn't still be marred by the hellhound's talons. "Why?" he questions in awe of this discovery, "How is this..."

A single tear drops from her eye and pools on his chest. "Dean," she whimpers sadly. "Don't..."

Moisture clouds his vision. "Why, Jo?" he repeats. "How do you have these?"

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. "It doesn't matter."

"I..." he starts, continuing to trace the thick bands of tissue. "I need to understand."

She exhales, staring down at his fingers. His touch isn't filled with disgust or horror. It's tempered with fascination and devotion. "It's a reminder," she mumbles. Nut-brown eyes, shimmering with sadness and longing, find his. "It helped me believe this," she gestures to their surroundings, "wasn't all a dream. That it wasn't something I..."

He presses a palliative kiss to her lips, smoothing his hands over her back. "Jo..."

She continues. "I needed something to prove this wasn't some school girl fantasy like the ones Sam accused me of having in Duluth."

"School girl fantasy? Duluth?" The memory of Sam's possession smashes into focus. "Demons lie, Jo. Sam," he struggles for the right words, the ones that will make her see. "Sam's known how I felt about you from the start."

She waits, unmoving, as he continues. His thumb brushes over her palm. "I was afraid, Jo," he says finally. "Babe, I've lost everyone close to me - my mom, my dad, even Sam for a while - and I..." His gaze drops from hers. "I was scared and I lost you anyway."

Jo tilts Dean's chin up. The barest of touches becomes a soul-shattering kiss. Comfort is replaced by desire as they fuse together. They're two halves of a whole. A matched set.

The growing anticipation is potent. Each touch is a new high. Every kiss is a drug more addicting than the last. He wants her, loves her, needs her.

And all the powers of Heaven and Hell be damned, he's going to _have _her, by his side, no matter the consequences.


	5. Ch 4: Well, That's Awkward

**A/N:** To all of those who follow this story - especially those of you who have reviewed - I am forever grateful. I'm in love with it...and I really hope it shows.

To **stephaniew** - where would I be withoutcha, babe? You keep me honest and have help shaped this story in more ways than you realize. For that, and for your friendship, I...well, you know. ***end chick flick moment*** ;)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

Chapter Four: Well, That's Awkward

Dean inches down Jo's body. His lips skim over her skin, tongue and fingers tracing over scars, and she arches beneath him. His touch is tender. It's the gentle exploration of a lover relearning contours and reigniting sparks that have grown dormant but never truly faded.

She whimpers under his kisses, her hands falling to his shoulders. She urges him back to her mouth, basking in the taste and scent of him as he covers and surrounds her. They lay together in a tangle of limbs and sheets.

"I want you," he tells her, his breath fanning against her throat. "I'll never stop wanting you."

Jo's lips part on a little moan as Dean feasts on her. It's as though he can't get enough. That he feels the need to drink her in to quench his thirst. "Mmm," she hums, squirming beneath him. If she's honest, she's not sure she'll be able to get her fill of _him_ either.

Dean's over her, supporting himself on his elbows, peppering her face with kisses. He grins at her and she smiles at him. Her face is radiant. He wonders how he never quite noticed it before.

Jo's hands glide over his smooth back. They grip his shoulders, tracing the taut muscles flexing beneath his skin. Their eyes meet and he moves closer. Their chests brush. Her lips find his. He's poised over her. Ready, but not quite waiting.

A flutter of wings announces that they're no longer alone. Startled, Dean falls off the edge of the bed. He only just barely manages to cover himself with a pillow as Jo tugs the sheet to cover her breasts and sits up.

"Cas!" Dean growls.

"There isn't much time," the angel replies. "We must leave quickly."

Jo chuckles. She takes in the dirty trench coat and the sheepish expression on his face before looking at Dean. The way the two men regard each other is comic. Cas cannot seem to grasp the reason for Dean's fury. Dean is more than annoyed at the interruption. "Hi, Cas," she says in greeting, "Nice to see you again."

"Joanna," he answers with a nod.

Dean glares at Jo. "Don't encourage him."

She shakes her head and wraps the sheet fully around her body. Getting out of bed, she takes Dean's hand and helps him off the floor. They come pressed together and Jo leans up to whisper in his ear. "I'm thinking I'll have plenty of time to make it up to you..." she breathes.

"You better," he answers. His mouth descends on hers fiercely, the fact that they have company momentarily forgotten.

Cas cocks his head to the side. His expression is neutral as he observes the pair. "That's not how they do it on television."

Jo feels Dean stiffen. Making eye contact, she shakes her head and steers him away from Cas. "You 'n Sam letting an angel watch porn?" she laughs. "Really, I mean..."

"Dude," he says, his brow furrowing as his mouth forms a tight line as he cuts Jo off. "Tell me you weren't looking at my ass. That's so messed up."

"I was looking at..." Cas begins.

"Both of you," Jo tells them impatiently, "need to shut up." She walks to the bureau, carefully keeping herself between the two men as she gathers clothing.

"But he," Dean begins to whine.

"Dean. Closet. Now." she directs.

He walks through the door with a scowl and she closes it behind them. Dropping the sheet, she presses his back against the door. Her body is a sizzling distraction but he continues to express his displeasure.

"Dean," she says, her voice like silk. "Come on... You know he doesn't know what he's talking about."

His face is stern. "He's comparing us to porn!"

She smirks and kisses his chest. "But what he doesn't know is that you do it so much better," she purrs teasingly.

His tongue moistens his lower lip and he flips their positions, pinning her wrists above her head. "Seven minutes in heaven?" he implores.

Jo's laughter is short lived when she presses her lips to Dean's. "While I'm sure you could do a lot with that, there's no lock on the door and you know he's not gonna give us that long."

Dean pouts as he releases her. He watches as she wiggles her hips, slipping into a pair of striped panties before pulling on a pair of worn Levi's.

She's tugging a t-shirt down over her navel when she catches him looking at her. Bending, she tosses him the clothes she plucked from the drawer for him to wear. "Stop gawking and get dressed!"

He recognizes the worn flannel as one of his favorite shirts. _But...? How'd she...?_

She wraps her arms around his waist. "This is the one you were wearing when..."

He silences her with a kiss, wiping the tears that have spilt from her eyes gently away. "Let's get outta here," he whispers.

They emerge from the closet to find the angel pacing the room. The floor shakes as though a mighty earthquake is churning just beneath the surface. Plaster begins to crumble as the walls cave around them.

"They're coming," Cas says. "They've discovered we're here." The mirror over the dresser shatters, spreading shards of glass over the floor. Drawers rattle in their compartments. The three stand so close they're nearly touching.

A picture clatters off of the night table. A flap of wings and they vanish as flames lick against the image of a man and woman smiling at each other. A memory of what was and what could have been is consumed and withers to ash as the blaze over takes the room, destroying all traces of its contents.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Cas grips them tightly. He struggles to keep them bound together. The turbulence is unfamiliar. Blinding light shimmers around them in millions of tiny pinpoints. He feels himself growing weak. Feels gravity pulling at his limbs and the fabric of his clothing. Feels everything falling apart.

Dean would later liken it to the effect of starship kicking into hyperdrive. He'd seen the movies with their cheesy effects on tv countless times with Sam. He'd tell you that Jo's face was buried against the fabric of his shirt. That being close to her - feeling her fear - reopened a Pandora's box of emotions he wasn't sure he'd ever learn to manage.

Jo would tell you she clung to Dean for dear life. That she was afraid they would be ripped apart for good. She'd tell you that the clothes she had carefully washed and put away in her Heaven - clothes that had never smelled quite right - now reminded her of home. Her real home. Her _earthly_ home.

But none of them would feel the guiding hand that shifted the balance. None of them would know that the course of history was about to change in a way they would never expect.

And the last thing any of them would remember was falling, hard and fast, into the vast nothingness of the night sky...


	6. Ch 5: Interlude:  Broken Wings

**A/N: *deep breath* **I'm evil...and I'm pretty sure this will get me into _loads_ of trouble.

I doubt any of you saw _this _coming. I think it's a nifty little curveball...and there'll be a few more like it coming down the road. I can't take the credit for the concept...I borrowed it from friend and fellow _Bones_ writer **jsq**. She probably never expected it would be used this way...

Very special thanks to **stephaniew **- friend, beta and talented fellow writer...lost - LOST - without you, especially on this. You rock...

And a **BIG **thank you to all of you for putting up with me! (PS - if you aren't already reading Steph's stuff, check her out!)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

Chapter Five: Interlude - Broken Wings

Everything is black. The ground is hard. The body's eyes refusing to adjust in the darkness.

This isn't normal. I shouldn't feel this way. I shouldn't _feel_ at all. I am an angel of the Lord. A messenger. A soldier.

My vessel's nose is bloody. I remember the rare times this has happened before. Times when a task exceeded my abilities. There haven't been many.

I look around. I see no signs of Dean or Joanna. This is bad. Very bad. Being separated from them would only...

Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps I was wrong to act against my Father. Perhaps now I am being punished for my disobedience. Bringing Dean back had been different. I was ordered to do so. Bringing Joanna back could have caused irreparable harm.

I have heard Dean refer to Sam as his weakness. He's stated repeatedly that it is known that the way to get to him is through Sam. In a similar way, it could be said that Dean is my weakness. In dragging him from perdition - in pulling his soul from the fire - he and I are linked.

I think of them now, struggling to focus. I can't find them. I should be able to locate Joanna even if I can't find Dean. Especially given how recently she was in Heaven. The link to her should be even stronger now.

But my powers are weakened. It's as if something inside of me is broken. Useless. How can I protect them if I cannot uncover their presence?

I try to stand up and stumble. There is a throbbing. A noise not unlike how I imagine my true voice would sound to a human echoes inside my vessel's skull. His eyes shut, a blinding light overtaking us as the noise continues. It grows sharp until it becomes painful.

And then nothing. I'm standing on the side of the road. I stare into the headlights of an on-coming vehicle. Without another thought, I step out into the street. I must stop it. I must find them.

**A/N: *flinches* **More soon?


	7. Ch 6: Heaven On Earth

**A/N:** Many, many thanks to all of you who have reviewed so far. It can be difficult to stay motivated and continue sharing things when you aren't sure how they are being received. You guys are the reason I continue posting even when I doubt myself.

Thank yous and big hugs to pal and beta **stephaniew** for putting up with my diva moments and helping me outline ideas that quickly spin out of control. Check out her profile and all the wonderful ways her OC gets Dean hot and bothered!

**Commercial: **Steph and I have started a little community for _Supernatural _writers who have been discouraged by a lack of feedback on their stories who are willing to review and support each other. PM me for details on how to join.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Six: Heaven On Earth

Dean stretches beneath the sheets. He squints at the clock on the nightstand and pulls the blanket over his shoulder with a groan. Still too early to get up.

A female voice, honey-thick with sleep, complains about the action. "Quit hogging the covers!"

His eyes shoot open at the sound. _No. It couldn't be. He had to have been dreaming._ The pain in his head was likely an indicator of how much alcohol he'd used to chase away her memory last night. "Jo?"

She snuggles against his back, kissing his shoulder. He rolls over and she presses her lips to his. He slides his arms around her and tugs her over him, his hands slipping under the edge of her camisole to caress the warmth of her back.

"Sonuvabitch," he says with a smirk. "It worked."

"Looks like," she murmurs quietly. Her eyes twinkle mischievously as she leans down, kissing him lightly as her hands tangle in his short hair. "How long you figure we've got before our wayward angel returns?" she whispers.

He shifts her beneath him, enveloping them both in the cocoon of the sheet. His eyes burning, his lips hovering just over hers, he says, "Not nearly long enough..."

Mouths fuse together and hands begin to wander. Hers climb the wall of his chest and steal into his hair, anchoring him to her. His glide under her camisole, stroking over her scars - the reminder that she _is_ here, that she really _is _his.

"Dean," she whimpers, suddenly self conscious of the marks.

He shakes his head. "You're alive," he says, his voice strong and his eyes filled with intensity. "That's all that matters."

She moans as he strips her bare, lovingly adorning her with kisses. She shivers as he holds her. Not from cold, but from the gravity of the moment. Being with him in a way she thought she never would - as the light comes shimmering through the windows and the sounds of birds singing just beyond the glass. Her heart thundering in her chest and she can hear his breathing. She knows that she's still in heaven. Only now heaven is on earth.

Dean takes his time. His touch is painstakingly tender. This time it's different though. It's not that he's afraid she'll dissolve beneath his caress. It's not from fear of being left alone in bed. It's because she's solid, yet soft, beneath him. It's that he knows that this time it's not a dream. She's really here. With him. She's no longer a mirage or a figment of his love-starved imagination.

"Mine," he growls before kissing her throat. His hands brush over her body in wispy painter's strokes. Delicate swirls that raise goosebumps on the canvas of his desire.

Jo's body is yielding and she willingly offers it into his hands. "Yes," she answers. Her own fingers skate along his back, kneading and pressing as they trace over solid cords of muscle.

He dips his mouth to hers and sucks on her lower lip as they come together. Straining, he holds back. His movements are measured and precise. It's as though he's calculating ways to stay clutched against her - _into_ her - for as long as possible.

She meets every motion of his hips with an equal one of her own. Giving back what she takes from him and encouraging his lustful invasion. His gentleness murders her patience and she wrests control from him.

Their eyes meet for a moment before he buries his face in her shoulder. A sigh - a sigh of relief tinged with ecstasy - escapes him as he clings to her, unable to be near enough.

She holds him in a crushing embrace. The intimacy of being so close - so filled with emotion - is as new for her as it is for him. But instead of frightening, it's liberating. Waves of pleasure ripple through her body down to her every toes and she's sure she'd float off of the bed if not for Dean's weight holding her to the mattress.

Breathing hard, heart racing, he collapses over her. They laugh, breaking the tension of the room and disrupting the quiet, as he lies on his back. Their fingers tangle together. "You are..." he begins.

"That was," she says at the same time.

Rolling to face her, he plucks at her lips. "How'd I get so lucky?"

Jo grins. "You just are," she answers.

Dean moans as her tongue skims across his lower lip. "You're asking for it..." he chuckles.

"Mmm," she sighs, her fingers caressing the line from his ribs to his hip. "Aren't you ambitious..." she teases.

"I'll show you ambitious..." he replies, tackling her only to bolt upright at the sound of the door creaking open on it's hinges.

Sam walks into Dean's room. "I'm all about sleeping in, but we gotta get star..." his eyes go wide with shock as he stares into large, brown eyes of the female hunter peering over his brother's shoulder. "Whoa! Seriously, Dean?"

Dean throws back the covers and grabs his discarded blue jeans. He tugs them on, quickly leaning down to kiss Jo before hurrying to the door. "I'll be right back..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dean walks into Bobby's kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee.

Bobby looks at him, shaking his head as his face draws into a scowl beneath the familiar brim of his cap. "Have you lost the last lick of sense God gave you, boy? Sam says you've got Jo Harvelle up in your bed."

"You just couldn't leave her out of this, could you? And now what? You're gonna leave me to pick up your mess?" Sam adds.

Dean takes a sip from the steaming mug in his hand. "You knew I was gonna go after her, I don't know why you're surprised."

"Ellen's gonna have your ass, son," Bobby huffs. "And then she's gonna have mine for lettin' it happen under my roof."

Dean shakes his head in confusion. "What are you talking about?" he asks. "And where's Cas?"

"Cas?" Sam asks. "Who the hell is Cas?" He squeezes his eyes closed. "Tell me you didn't..."

Bobby perks up. "Jo and some other girl? Dammit, Dean..." he starts.

A quizzical expression crosses his features. _Did they really think so little of him? _"Cas, as in Castiel? You know, our favorite angel? The one who gave me this?" Dean looks at his shoulder as he turns it to show them.

It's bare. Completely unmarred. He feels dizzy, the coffee cup dropping from his hand and shattering on the floor. He leans heavily against the counter before sinking to the floor.

Jo walks into the room and hurries to Dean's aid. She drops to her knees on the floor in front of him.

"Jo," Dean says softly, "We aren't in heaven anymore..." He glances at the calendar over her shoulder as the realization dawns. He immediately yanks her roughly to his chest, a sob escaping as his fingers thread into her hair.

There's more. There's the part that's on the tip of his tongue even as he leaves it out. There's a reason Bobby and Sam are clueless. There's a reason they're shocked to see Jo. And it's not because she was dead.

It's because he's on borrowed time. Today's the day his number comes up. A day he thought was long behind him.

It's the day that Dean Winchester became a hellhound's chew toy. The day he went to Hell.


	8. Ch 7: Same Song, Different Verse

**A/N: ***whistles innocently* So...I kinda thought the whole Hell thing was obvious given the title. Some of you seemed a little surprised by the last chapter. Is this the part where I say I'm sorry? No? Good...because I don't regret it. *ducks flying apples and bananas* I'm quite good at Fruit Ninja on my iPhone...anybody got a sword?

Some of you are probably gonna hate me a little more before this is over, but I'm taking a page out of Steph's playbook. Not sure what that means? Read her stories and you'll find out... ;)

**Silverspoon** - I wasn't planning on putting this up so quick...just remember that you asked for it, okay? ;)

**stephaniew **- Thanks for the help and for guiding me through my latest panic attack. I hope I continue to make you proud with this one...

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Seven: Same Song, Different Verse

"Cas?" Dean calls out. "Castiel, quit screwing around and get your feathered ass down here!"

They wait. Minutes tick by. Nothing. No trademark flapping of wings. No sudden appearance of a man in trench coat.

Dean slumps into an empty chair and leans his head against his fists. Jo sits close to him, her hand resting on his thigh. He looks at her, catching the sadness in her coffee-colored eyes, before turning to face the others.

With a deep breath, he begins their story. He tells of how he came back from Hell and of the angel who raised him from the fire. He divulges how he started the Apocalypse by breaking the first seal. With a rueful grin, he informs the old man how in four months time he'll douse him with holy water and test him with silver. He recounts how he and Sam are Michael and Lucifer's chosen vessels.

Taking her hand, he talks about losing Jo in the hardware store. He relates being desperate to get her back that the three of them had spent hours pouring over books and searching for answers only to find none. Tells of being so desperate that, with the help of Cas, he went to Heaven to bring her back.

Sam's brow furrows. "Dude," he says. "It's impossible."

"It's no more impossible than making the deal with the demon that brought you back," Dean answers. His fingers flex, tightening around those of the woman beside him. "Look, Sam, you gotta believe me. We gotta find Cas so he can fix this and set things right."

"We're runnin' outta time, Dean," Bobby says. "Even if we can find this angel..."

Dean looks at Jo and stands up, pulling her with him. "Can you give us a minute?" he asks the other men. At his brother's nod, they slip out the back door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Castiel walks along the road until he comes to a town. He had gotten three rides in three different cars. The first had been from a woman in an aged sedan. She had been friendly...right up until he had commented that she was painted like a whore. Next, there had been the mini-van full of something called Atheists. Telling them that the road to perdition was paved with sinners and non-believers had gotten him pushed out while the vehicle was still in motion. The final ride had been from a farmer in a pickup truck. He had explained that the reason the man's daughter had run away was because his brother was molesting her. He had grown red and very angry.

He wanders into a convenience store. The minutes on his cell phone have run out. He doesn't have any money and he isn't quite sure what to do. He's uncomfortable with the way the store clerk watches him.

"Can I help you with somethin'?" the man in the apron asks.

Looking down he sees a newspaper. The date catches his eye. "I have to go," he says.

Pointing, the employee gestures to the back of the store. "Restroom's in the corner," he instructs. "But you either need to put the reading material down or pay for it first."

Without his powers, he'll never make it. Dropping the paper on the floor, he runs through the door. Time is running out. He must hurry.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You buying any of that crazy Dean's trying to sell us?" Bobby asks as soon as Dean and Jo make their exit. He rocks against the back of his chair and adjusts his cap.

Sam blows out a breath. "Honestly? I mean I don't know, Bobby," he says. "It's just crazy enough that it could be true. I mean the whole Apocalypse thing? That we're vessels? I don't know about that. But," he stares out the screen door after the pair as they walk just out of his sight line. "Did you see the way he looked at her?"

Bobby shakes his head. "Your idjiot brother better know what he's doin' with that girl," he utters. "'Cause if her mama don't kill him for hurtin' her, I just might."

"That's just it, Bobby," Sam states plainly. The look on his face is one of confusion, his brow drawn tight and his nose wrinkled. "I've never seen him like that. Not with anyone. It makes me believe he's telling the truth."

The older hunter considers the words of the younger man. "Even if it is true, he's punchin' the clock. What are we gonna do?"

Sam shrugs. "Stick with the plan? What else can we do?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The grass is cool and damp with dew on their bare feet as he makes his way to the Impala. He sits on the trunk. It's a move he and Sam have made many times after a job. The number of talks his baby has seen, the number of times she's been a part of his emotions, talking to Jo here just seems...right. He pulls her to stand between his thighs.

Jo looks at Dean, her eyes searching the wet puddles that are almost as green as the grass. Her hand skims over his cheek and she gasps softly as he cups her palm to his face before placing a kiss at it's center.

Dean takes both her hands in his. He stares at the contrast of her smooth, fair skin against his chapped, tan hands with their dirty fingernails. Her own nails were neat enough to be feminine without polish to make them prissy.

"Dean," Jo begins, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Their eyes meet and his breath catches at how beautiful she is in this moment. The early morning sun casts her sleep messy hair in a golden glow. Her dark eyes are filled with spirit and determination. She's strong and capable, every bit the woman her mother would be proud of and any man would be lucky to have by his side. They could do this. Together. They really didn't have a choice.

"It's only four months, Jo," he tells her.

"Dean, no," she answers. "Don't talk like that."

"Baby, if Cas was comin' he'd have been here by now. We have to be ready for the worst. I survived it once, I can do it again."

Emotions and feelings mirror through her expressive eyes. Fear. Pain. Anger. Doubt. "I just got you back," she whispers, a fat tear slipping from between her lashes and sliding over her cheek. "Don't ask me to do this..."

"I'm not asking you," he says gruffly. "I'm telling you how it's gonna be."

"Over my dead body, you selfish, self-centered jackass," she fumes, trying to pull away. "I'm not leaving you."

"Go to your mom's. You'll be safe there," he pleads. "Wait for me. When I come back, I'll find you."

"Oh, yeah," she bites back. "Like you were gonna call me after Duluth?"

"Jo, sweetheart..." he stumbles, trying to find a way to explain.

"Don't 'sweetheart' me," she growls. "I'm sticking with you. If Cas comes, we need to be in the same place, right?"

Dean just looks at her. It was bad enough watching Sam go through his final hours with him, and now Jo, too? Forget the pit, the sheer devastation in their eyes was his own personal hell on earth. "I can't, Jo," he sobs. "I can't let you do this."

Chin stiff with defiance, her lips draw into the tiniest of smiles. "I'm not asking you," she soothes, embracing him as she parrots his words back. "I'm telling you how it's gonna be."

His arms wrap around her tightly. "But..."

"No buts, Dean-O," she says. "Maybe there's a reason I'm here. Maybe I can save you..."

As her lips touch his, she gives him a kiss that isn't filled with the misery or despair he's expecting. The simple gesture is filled with comfort and compassion. It's tinged with love and the sweetness of hope.

Dean allowed a spark of hope to catch flame and burn in his chest. He had made it through the pain and suffering once. He was needed and he trusted that he'd be pulled back the way he had been before. This time he had something that would make him stronger. Something to return home to. His own slice of Heaven would be waiting for his return.

Death couldn't keep them apart...what was four months in Hell for a lifetime in her arms?


	9. Ch 8: I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

**A/N: **I'm doing something I really dislike. As a rule, I try not to regurgitate specific parts of episodes in this fashion because it's a pet peeve of mine...but I'm playing with the end of _No Rest For The Wicked_. This really needed to be here...so I hope you'll forgive me.

Many thanks to all my lovely reviewers for all the support they've shown. My muse has kicked into overdrive and this story is coming together more quickly than I had anticipated. I honestly never thought I'd post three chapters in three days!

**stephaniew** - Thank heaven I've got you in my corner...otherwise I might've scrapped this one. You're amazing and I'm incredibly blessed to have you as my partner in crime. If folks aren't reading your stuff, they've got no idea what they're missing! (In a word? Whiskey. 'Nuff said.)

**WARNING:** Per the request of **WelshWitch1011**, this is your tissue warning. Got Kleenex?

Now...if you'll excuse me, I'm going to run and hide from **Silverspoon**_. _Love you, honey, but I am extremely glad you live on the other side of the pond and can't beat me up for this...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_. The dialogue and anything else you recognized have been borrowed solely for the purpose of our amusement. I make no money off of this and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Eight: I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

Sam approaches Ruby, pleading for her to tell him what to do. He begs for a way to save his brother. She tells him it's too late, that he's missed his chance. Her tone is mocking and harsh. Reality refuses to set in as the two bicker.

"You shoulda let me gank that bitch when I had the chance, Sam!" Dean fumes, pushing his brother away from Ruby. "I told you what happened."

"I'm not gonna let you go to Hell, Dean!" Sam answers, struggling to get past his brother.

Jo looks at the clock, swallowing as she gets in between the two men. "Enough!" she yelps. It hurts to see them fighting, especially given that they have only minutes left.

Dean's jaw tightens and he holds his chin high as he stares into Sam's eyes. "Yes, you are, Sammy."

The younger Winchester's lip quivers as he absorbs his brother's words.

Dean feels his heart shattering in his chest as he watches Sam's eyes fill. Delivering this speech for a second time isn't any easier. Knowing that he's leaving his brother behind, unprotected, causes the bile to rise in his throat. "What you're doing isn't gonna save me, it's only gonna kill you."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he asks, struggling to keep the tears from escaping. Losing Dean means losing what little he has left. It doesn't matter that they've told him it's only for four months. Four months in the life of a hunter might as well be 10 years.

Dean doesn't lose focus. This memory is one that has haunted him. He wonders what he could have said differently - _done_ differently - to comfort his sibling. "You can keep fighting," he says steadily. "You can take care of Jo," he adds looking at the blonde. "Keep her safe, Sammy. Can you do that for me?"

Sam and Jo exchange a look. It's one that acknowledges they both know she can handle herself, but that they'll agree for him. He nods, his eyes finding Dean's again.

"Take care of my wheels. Skip the iPod deck, Sam, because I want my baby in the same shape she's in now when I get back," Dean goes on, shaking his head at the memory of how pissed he'd been about that little discovery.

He watches the moisture pooling in blue-green and brown eyes as both Sam and Jo stare at him. "Remember what Dad taught you," he watches Sam's nod. "And remember what I taught you."

Sam sees the weak smile that tugs at Dean's mouth. It's filled with sadness and regret. It's surreal and it eats at him. This shouldn't be happening. Even though they've acknowledged it, he still finds himself unable to accept it. When Dean reaches for Jo's hand, he backs away and gives the two a moment.

Dean's lips brush over hers and she feels everything he held back from Sam. The fear - the anxiety and uncertainty - it consumes her and makes her breathless. When he touches her face, it's like an electrical current shoots through her body. "Not nearly enough time," he murmurs.

"Dean..." she whispers, a plump droplet sliding from the corner of her eye and trailing over her cheek.

Watching her tears as they begin to fall and knowing he's the cause chokes him. He crushes his lips to hers. "This isn't good bye, Jo. This isn't over - _we_ aren't over."

She squeezes her eyes shut to hid the doubt from him. She knows she's failed when he tilts her chin up to look at her.

"Look out for Sammy," he pleads. "He's gonna need you every much as you'll need him. I don't want..."

The clock begins to chime and a sob escapes her lips. She's not ready for this. No matter how hard she's fought and no matter how much she thought she could be, letting him go seems impossible. They both look in the direction of the sound before staring at each other.

As the keening cries of the hellhounds draw nearer, he kisses her quickly. "I love you," he says. His eyes flit back to Sam. "I love you both."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Ruby chimes in. "I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy."

He can see as much as hear the dogs that track him. "Hellhounds," he says ruefully.

"Where?" Sam asks.

"There," Dean answers, his eyes focused on the beast at the entry of the adjoining room. The big black dog, it's eyes glowing red beneath twisted ribbons of thick muscle. It's flesh appears burnt and mangled. It's jaws foam with hunger and it's talons glisten in the light streaming in from the hallway. It's growl is deep and guttural, causing him to shiver. He can smell the stench of death that clings to it's mangy coat.

"Run!" he screams, pushing Jo ahead of him as the four of them race down the hallway to the study.

Sam and Ruby hold the french doors closed as he empties part of the contents of a hex bag just in front of them. One of the dogs slams its body against the wood frame. There is a sickening crunch as the structural integrity becomes compromised, but it holds firm.

Dean hurries to the window and dusts the sill with the remainder of the bag. He hears Ruby's demand that Sam give her the knife and spins around. Though moments before it was still Ruby, he knows that Lilith possesses the body now.

He watches as Jo reaches out and grabs the knife, stabbing it into the chest of the demon as he eyes roll back. She isn't quick enough. A black cloud blows from her mouth as the vessel falls lifelessly to the floor, but not before the doors burst open.

Sam clings to Jo, holding her back as she screams and pushes against him. "Let me go" We have to help him!"

"We can't," he sobs in answer.

They watch in horror as Dean's body jerks with the attack. He wails in anguish as an arteries are punctured, spewing his blood across the hardwood floor. His clothes are shredded by knife-sharp claws that act as scissors.

The pain is excruciating. Adrenaline isn't enough to fight back the sensation of his flesh being torn. It doesn't stop him from feeling the beasts' weight as they dig into his body, fighting over his carcass. Their breath is acrid and he fights to recall the scent of Jo's hair. He works to envision her face as he feels himself begin to lose consciousness.

"No!" Jo's screams rip him further as his chest is torn apart. He thinks of the scars she bears, thinks of how she received them and wishes more than anything she hadn't had to suffer _this_ kind of pain to save him. He wasn't worth it.

Dean's heart pounds in desperation to distribute blood to his extremities, but it does so in vain. The viscus liquid pours from his chest. It stains what's left of his shirt and the floor. It pools beneath him until his head drops to the ground.

Jo breaks free of Sam's grip and falls to her knees at Dean's side. She pulls his limp body into her arms and kisses his scruffy cheeks. Her lips pluck at his and she smoothes her fingers through his hair. She looks into his eyes - eyes once as green as oak leaves in the springtime - and weeps at the emptiness.

Sam pries Dean from her grasp and shakes him as though it would somehow bring him back. "Dean," he whimpers. "No..."

Jo stiffens. This isn't what Dean would want. She stands as Bobby enters the room. "He's gone, Sam," she states plainly. "He's gone and we don't have time to waste."

"He'll be back in four months," Bobby answers, his face puckering in confusion.

She pulls a map from the pocket of her jacket and hands it to Bobby. "No," she says. "We've got three. That's when he caved to Alastair's torture. I'll be damned if I let him suffer anymore than he has to."

Sam lays Dean's body gently on the hardwood before rising to his feet. "But Cas..."

"I'm not gonna just sit on my ass and wait for Castiel to show up, Sam," she growls through clenched teeth. "Are the two of you gonna help me or not?"

The two hunters look at each other, neither willing to say anything. She's just about to pull the map from the older man's hands when he speaks, "What's the plan?"

Jo gulps. "Everything's gotta be how it was the last time. That map will take you to the spot where you buried him."

Bobby shakes his head. "Burying him's too risky," he offers.

Sam nods. "Bobby, she's right. If he's coming back, he's gotta have a body to go into."

She takes one last look at Dean's body, her heart seizing in her chest at seeing him gone. She's seen him bloody. She's seen him beaten. Seeing him lifeless? It makes her wonder how she'll continue to breathe until he's with her again. Drying the last of her tears, she puts on a brave face and holds out her hand. "Give me the keys," she says to Sam.

His brow scrunches and his eyes get that far-away puppyish expression. "Wait," he asks, "you're not coming with us."

"I've got something I've got to pick up," she confesses. "It shouldn't take me but a day or two. I'll meet you back at the scrap yard."

Sam hesitates. Dean's words ring in his ears. _Take care of Jo. Keep her safe, Sammy._ "But Dean said..."

Jo shakes him off like a pitcher refusing a catcher's sign. "Dean said a lot of things, Sam," she tells him. "Time's a luxury we can't afford and Bobby can't take care of Dean alone." She steps closer to him, tugging on his jacket. "Trust me on this one, okay?"

She pecks Bobby on the cheek and leans to whisper something in his ear.

Bobby looks at Sam and the younger man hands Jo the keys to the Impala even as he rolls his eyes in protest.

"It's gonna be okay, Sam," she says softly, her hand touching his arm fleetingly. "It has to be."


	10. Ch 9: Interlude: Master Plan

**A/N:** We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this special special chapter. Okay, not really...but anyway...according to my outline, this was supposed to be #10 but sometimes outlines change, right?

Thank/blame **Silverspoon** for the timing of this post because she asked for it. I'm beginning to think she's a glutton for punishment. ;)

While I was thrown for a loop by this little alteration, my friend and beta **stephaniew **refused to let it rattle my confidence. For that, and for all the other little behind the scenes things she does to help me with this story, I am eternally grateful. Check out her stories and send her some lovely reviews?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Nine: Interlude - Master Plan

I stand alone in a small room. It's cozy, but not what one would expect from me or this place. Keeps them on their toes I think. Makes them forget my power. Power that I have developed a practiced ease for convincing them I no longer want. Flipping on the television, I watch a trench coated man get thrown from a bus for not paying the fare. I can't help but chuckle softly.

There are things that even after spending time with the Winchesters Castiel hasn't learned. Hot-wiring the old Dodge Shadow sitting two blocks from the bus station would've been instinct to Dean or his brother, Sam. I'm banking on the angel's innocence holding him back to give her the time she needs.

"Deserved that one, didn't he?" I hear a voice say as he comes up behind me. I don't have to turn around to know who it comes from or that he'll have a cherry sucker hanging from his lips.

Switching to a different channel, I fold my arms over my chest and wait for the other voice I know is coming. The one with the crisp, clipped accent I gifted him with thousands of years ago for my own amusement.

"And to think, you've gotten on me for doing this very thing," he teases affectionately. Without looking at him, I can see the smile spreading across his face.

"Where'd you think I got the idea for this rewrite of the history books?" I ask him.

"Really?" he asks me as they come to stand at my left and right. "If so, I'm quite flattered."

Leaning back, the other man mouths the words 'suck up' before they both adopt my stance and stare at the monitor before us. "I heard that," I chastise.

Taking on a rather sullen expression, the man with the lollipop's eyes become innocent. He knows his tricks won't work on me, but the fact that he employs the tactics anyway is very him. There's a reason he's one of my favorites and has been allowed to run amuck for centuries. It's something he's keenly aware of.

Growing serious, he asks, "You sure this is a good idea, boss?"

I look from him to his counterpart. The latter's head dips slightly and he smiles almost shyly as he rubs the back of his neck. I grin, shaking my head. I know precisely what I'm doing...even if they don't believe it. I find it odd that these two are the ones doubting me.

"Are you sure we should let her go through with it?" he asks, the words falling from his lips almost sheepishly in comparison with those from his brother.

"I underestimated her before," I tell them, pausing as we watch her climb from behind the wheel of the classic Impala. She moves with determination, taking a key from her pocket and disappearing into a storage shed. "Joanna is strong. She can do this." I smile as she tucks an object wrapped in an old cloth into the pocket of her jacket. "And for her sacrifice, she shall be greatly rewarded."

**A/N: ***ducks* I'm in trouble, aren't I? Look for another post from me later this evening. It's currently untitled, but let's just say it involves Protective!Dean and smut.


	11. Ch 10: Highway to Hell

**A/N: **And we're back! Sorry for the delay...I've been distracted with plans for my sister's baby shower, work, sinuses, allergies and other projects. But enough with the excuses!

A **BIG** thank you to all my reviewers for all their support. If not for being sick, I probably would have turned this out last week...

Can I get a round of applause for **stephaniew**? She continues to go above and beyond as a friend and beta acting as a research assistant, cheerleader and all around crisis management specialist. If you aren't treating yourself to her wonderful stories, then you are seriously missing out...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Ten: Highway to Hell

_Tuesday, May 5, 2008_

_Three days after Dean's death_

Jo pulls the Impala to a stop in front of the aging farmhouse adjacent to the salvage yard. She walks into the kitchen and begins to empty her pockets and go through the duffle she carried in with her. She's startled when the legs of one of the chairs scrapes across the linoleum and she realizes she's no longer alone.

"So, you're really doing it then?" Sam asks, his voice filled with concern.

She places the Leavitt & Wesson Dragoon revolver on the worn tabletop. It's weight comes in contact with the surface of the wood far more heavily than she expects and she watches the man across from her flinch.

"Sam, we've been over this," she exhales the words with a sigh. "I can't sit around and do nothing. Four months to us is forty years to him. The last three days have been an entire year in the pit."

"Is that the Colt?" he asks, his brow furrowing.

She looks at the weapon, her fingers trail over its muzzle. "No," she tells him, "It's the Harvelle family version of it." She shakes her head, trying to dispel the fears and doubt in the family lore behind this particular gun. Unlike the Colt, it's history was largely undocumented. But the way in which it was superior to it's competitor - the beveled chambers for the bullets that prevented accidental discharge of additional ammunition during flash - made it seem like a logical choice as she prepared to enter the fires of Hell. Licking her lips and tugging the lower one between her teeth, she wonders if she's being silly. A firearm would likely be of little use where she was going. Apprehension at her own naiveté creeping in, she mumbles, "I'm not even sure it'll work."

Sam rubs his hands on his thighs. She knows what he's thinking before the words even fall from his lips. "When do we leave?" he asks her.

Walking over to him, she kisses his forehead. "Not 'we', Sam," she says softly. "Just me. And soon. As soon as I can get the last few things worked out."

"But, Jo," he starts in.

She clenches her teeth, her mouth forming a tight line. "Sam, no," she repeats. "It's bad enough that I'm planning to even attempt this. Dean would..."

"So don't," he says, taking her hand. "You don't have to do this alone."

"You don't understand," Jo says softly. She gulps, unsure of how much of his future she should reveal. She thinks for a moment before dropping into the chair beside him. "It's too dangerous. You can't go because you're Lucifer's vessel."

Sam's brow furrows, he frowns. "That's insane..."

"It's your future, Sam. Whether you believe it or not," she tells him. "And I'll be damned if I'll deliver you into the hands of the devil himself. You're not going. That's it."

Sam just stares at her, mouth hanging slightly open as he considers his response.

"Close your mouth, idjiot," Bobby says as he walks into the kitchen. "She's right. It's too big a risk."

"Bobby, with respect," Sam says, climbing to his feet.

"You're brother may be dead boy," Bobby snorts, "but that don't mean you need t' give him a reason to kick yer ass when he gets back." He wraps his arms around Jo before addressing her. "I sure as shit hope ya know what you're doin', girl."

Jo gives the old man a lopsided grin. "I think I can handle myself, Bobby," she replies. "I'm gonna need you and Sam to take care of my body. The screwy thing about astral travel is threat of possession, but..."

Bobby pushes his cap back on his head. "Astral travel? How ya plannin' to get yer soul out?"

She pulls a small sack from her pocket. "Using this," she answers. "Eihwaz."

Bobby crosses his arms. "Runes are dangerous, Jo," he says sternly. "Dark magic is..."

"If y'all won't help me, you know I'll just find somebody else who will." Her voice is defiant, but it's the look she shoots him that causes the older hunter to back off. Seeing him soften, she adds, "Look, Bobby, I don't like this any more than you do. But it's for Dean..."

"He made it out before, Jo," Sam interrupts. "He'd kill us both if anything happened to you."

Jo takes a deep breath and walks over to the stove. She puts the kettle on to boil before coming back to the table. Her eyes drift between the two men. "You wouldn't be sayin' that if you knew what he went through. If you knew how badly he suffered," she says quietly but firmly. "Find Cas. Tell him what happened. He'll bring us both back. He'll fix it. But I won't make Dean wait 40 years for relief. I've got to do something."

"I hate ta say it, Sam, but she's right," Bobby huffs. "Dean'd be the first one in line to do it if it was one a us."

Sam crosses his arms. "Fine. What's the plan?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_Two hours later..._

Jo hugs Sam. "Remember. Find Cas. Call him. Ask for his help. He saved Dean once..."

Sam's eyes are wet. In less than a week, he's lost his brother and is about to part with another friend. "I will. You have my word."

Turning, she embraces Bobby. The old man crushes her to his chest. "Bury me with him, Bobby," she pleads. "I know what I said, okay? But I need to be with him when we come back."

"If that's what you want," he agrees.

"And look out for Sam," she whispers. Drawing back, she looks into Bobby's eyes before her own flick to Sam. "Do it for both of us..."

Before he can answer, Sam approaches them. He carries an old leather book in his hands, the worn ribbon marker dangling from it's cracked pages like a serpent's tongue. He forces a smile for her benefit, but he can't hide his worry. Taking a breath, he poses his question,"You ready to get started?"

Jo bites her lip. Running her hands over her body, she checks the gear one last time before laying down. She gulps and nods, her eyes filling with tears. "Make it quick, okay?"

She drinks the blended herbs as Sam begins the incantation. She feels her heart seize painfully in her chest. The room spins and begins to blur as the rich tones of Sam's voice reciting the latin chant become distorted. She closes her eyes and wills herself to stop breathing as everything in the room fades to black.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Darkness. Fear. Pain. Suffering. Sadness. The weight of it all is overwhelming. It consumes her. Devours her energy. Saps what little strength she has left.

But then somewhere, deep inside of her, she feels the vibration of his laugh. She sees Dean's face. His smile is radiant. It's brighter than sunlight. It's in that smile she finds her motivation. Her reason for getting up. For struggling forward.

She's alone when she opens her eyes, but she knows she carries him with her. As her eyes adjust, she finds everything is bathed in a red glow. It's not the red of the tube of lipstick she borrowed from her mother's vanity at age 12 when she wanted to snag the attention of 15-year-old Tommy Parker, nor is it the red of the can of spray paint she holds firmly in her hand. It's a different shade. It's thick and sickening. The fact that she can't quite place the color makes Jo uneasy.

Her feet slip over tiny pebbles and she stumbles. Unable to catch herself she falls, barely managing to bite back a whimper as discomfort shoots from her wrist to her elbow. She gulps, taking in her surroundings. Rocks. Steep walls, roughhewn into a honeycomb of channels and pathways.

The screams - the piercing pitch of agony mingled with low moans of pain - churn her stomach. Bile rising in her throat, she closes her eyes and tries to focus. Her ears seek a particular sound. One that she heard three days ago. One that came from the mouth and lungs of the man she loves as he lay dying on the hardwood floor in New Harmony.

Tears stream freely over her cheeks when she is able to pick out his voice as he cries out. He calls out for her and for Sam. He begs for forgiveness. She knows why he does it. He fears what's to come - that he will once again succumb and accept Alistair's bargain. That it's only a matter of time.

She fights to get closer to the sound. Works to locate it's origin. She close now. So close, she can practically feel his anguish. It's as though his soul is calling out to hers, tiny threads pulling them together and binding them. She goes willingly to the edge.

Dean is stretched out, limbs splay so wide apart that his joints nearly separate. He's naked, every inch of his body exposed to brutal torture. Hooks bite into his shoulders and heavy chains cut into his wrists and ankles. Rivers of blood and sweat trickle over him.

The dark, unfeeling eyes of a demon shine as their owner cracks a whip, lashing into Dean's back as he screams. Seemingly dissatisfied with the weapon, it picks up a jagged blade and begins to carve into Dean's flesh. The monster's laugh is bone chilling.

It takes everything she has in her not to call out to Dean and give him even the tiniest measure of comfort. Especially when she hears it. The words that, like the image in front of her would be burned into her memory. Words that shattered her heart into hundreds of tiny pieces. Because he isn't thinking of himself in that moment. He's thinking of her...and worried that she'll give up.

"Jo! Wait for me, baby! Hang on until I can get back to you..."


	12. Ch 11: Abandon All Hope

**A/N:** I love this story...and I'm tickled that it seems you do, too.

Right now, we're set to go 17 chapters (18 counting the prologue). I can't believe we're already over halfway there...and that I've got most of the rest written. *wipesbrow* My muse wasn't playing around this weekend...

For the record, _this_ is what happens when I freak out and **stephaniew **tells me to let the story write itself. This is either the most brilliant or insane thing I have ever done. I'll let you decide...

I'm sitting _way _off the reservation with a massively re-written outline and Steph is sitting somewhere 300 miles or so south of me with her chin on the floor. Why does she put up with me again?

Umm...happy reading? I'll be biting my fingernails over here in the corner. *flinches*

**Tissue Warning: **Got Kleenex?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Eleven: Abandon All Hope

"_Jo! Wait for me, baby! Hang on until I can get back to you..."_

The pain in Dean's voice carries Jo forward. She climbs and pushes herself, she stumbles but does not allow herself to fall.. She has to get to him. Has to get him out of here. Has to free him from the pit. But the closer she gets, the further away she seems to be.

She's in a field near a creek. She sees her father kneeling by the water to get a drink. John Winchester walks up behind him, pointing a shotgun at the back of his head. Jo struggles to call out a warning, but it's as though her vocal cords aren't working.

Bill must see John's reflection in the water. He turns, looking up at the man standing over him. "No, John..."

John cracks his neck. He holds the weapon steadily, pushing it forward until it's pressed against his forehead.

"Please..." he father begs. She feels the fat, sloppy tears as they slide over her face. She's unable to move, unable to _do_ anything. She's fixed in place as though her shoes are filled with cement. "Think of Jo. Think of my baby girl. Do you want her to be like your boys? Do you want her to grow up with only one parent to protect her?"

The smirk on John's face is cold. The black of his is eyes is haunting. She closes her eyes at the _pop _of the gun. She keeps them shut waiting for a scream that doesn't come.

There's just a splash. Then nothing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam stands out in the field. He runs his hands through his hair. A growl rumbles deep in his throat as he tries calling out for the angel again, "Castiel, if you can hear me, man..."

"What the hell are you doing?"

He grits his teeth and, spinning around, sets eyes on the beautiful brunette sitting on the hood of the Impala. "Ruby."

"Reality check, Sam," she says, her voice sharp. "Your brother is dead. He's not coming back."

"You're wrong," he answers defiantly.

Ruby pushes herself up and steps toward the hunter. She tilts her head and watches his nostrils flare and his eyes narrow. Reaching up, she runs a hand along his jaw and feels him stiffen at her touch. Things were not going according to plan. She had to help him channel his abilities. They had to get started soon.

"Come on, Sam," she whispers, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss his throat. "I can help you. I can ease your pain."

Sam steels himself as he feels the bile rising in his throat. He uses her closeness to block his next move. Pulling her own dagger from his belt, he buries it to the hilt in her abdomen and pushes her off of him. "What you can do is go back to Hell," he spits. "You black eyed bitch."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Shaking with fear, Jo hugs herself tightly. She can do this. She has to. Taking bold steps, she makes her way. She hears her own voice. Hears herself pleading and begging. Turning, she sees herself facing off against Sam.

He yanks at her clothes, his eyes are inky and his smile is fiendish. The other her melts away and the demon pretending to be Sam approaches her. "Why are you here?" it snarls. "We told you he didn't love you. That he saw you as a school girl. And yet you come to save him anyway."

"You aren't real," she says defiantly. It makes her feel strong. Power courses through her chest.

"Mmm," he taunts. "You think he wants you. You think he'd want you if he knew what I did to you?"

Jo snorts. Pulling the Dragoon from her waist, she fires it and slips it back.

The look on fake Sam's face changes rapidly. Confusion. Surprise. Anger. The hole spreads wider and wider until his entire being explodes in front of her.

Jo shakes her head, a genuine smile touching her lips for the first time since Dean's death. "Sonuvabitch," she says, her hand caressing the wooden and steel handle of the weapon. "It worked..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bobby stands at his kitchen sink. He watches as the Impala rolls into the scrap yard and hurries out to meet Sam on the porch. "Well?" he asks. "Any luck?"

Sam's brow is furrowed. "No," he answers. "No sign of him. I don't know about this, Bobby. I mean I know what they said..."

"It ain't been 4 months yet, boy," Bobby says. The old man's heart breaks as he delivers the remark. Like Sam, he'd hoped Jo would be able to do something. That they wouldn't be forced to wait for an angel they had no proof even existed.

"It's been over a month, Bobby," Sam says, grabbing the back of a chair for support. "Almost two. Jo said she had to get him out in three."

As he stands up, Bobby notices the stain on the front of his shirt. "You ain't hurt are ya, ya idjiot."

Sam shakes his head. "No," he answers, stripping off his jacket and beginning to remove his clothes as he makes his way from the room. "Ran into a demon."

The old hunter crosses his arms. "The one they said turned you into a blood sucker?" he asks.

"Yeah," he replies. "She won't be a problem anymore."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jo's close now. Close enough she can almost feel the lashes cutting into Dean's flesh. She wants nothing more than to go to him. To kiss the corner of his mouth comfortingly, even with the knowledge that it would be much like the kiss he gave her as she lay dying - tinged with the copper tang of blood.

She closes her eyes, thinking of waking up with him. Thinking of the way he pulled the covers over them both. The flutter of the crisp sheet as his mouth crushed against hers. Her heart beats faster as she feels the love in his touch. Her breath quickens as she swears she can feel his hands and his mouth on her skin.

Dean gasps. His eyes shoot open and he searches for her. It can't be real. She couldn't really be here. He was delusional.

But it felt real. So real. Even as Alistair's blade cuts into his side, he'd swear he can feel her lips roaming over his. He'd swear he can feel the pounding of her heart against his chest as she lay beneath him.

Only she wasn't beneath him. He was hanging, suspended in mid-air, from a meat hook. It cut into the flesh and muscle of his shoulder. It ground against the bone when the whip lashed against his back. But he wouldn't break. He would hold out. He would never give up - never give in - not when he had Jo to go home to.

Green eyes shine with fear and sadness when he sees her on a ledge not too far from him. "No," he mouths.

Her eyes twinkle as she looks down at him. "I love you," she mouths back. There'd be plenty of time to fight about this later. When they were home and he was safe.

Pulling the cans of paint from her pockets, she prepares the devils' traps on the stone floor. Smiling, she pours handfuls of dirt she's collected over them as they dry. Closing her eyes, she prays this works. Prays it holds them off just long enough.

"You," she calls out. Alistair stops his slicing and dicing. He turns his eyes from his plaything to the blonde who stands fearlessly eyeing him. "Yeah, you. Tall, dark and ugly."

"Jo, no!" Dean calls out.

The demon tilts his head. Watching the pained gaze that shoots between the young lovers, he sees his victim's weakness. The girl. Dean would surely break if he tortured the girl before his very eyes. With a flick of his wrist, he dispatches several minions.

Jo draws them into the circle and quickly steps out just as a hand is reaching for her. They scream in agony, trapped as fire consumes them.

But she doesn't have time to think about it, marveling at how well the trick had worked. She turns back to Alistair. "Bring it."

Dean pulls, jerking against the hooks and chains that bind him. He's afraid to watch. Afraid to breathe. Afraid this will all have been for nothing and that he'll never make his way home. That he and Jo will be lost forever in the fires of Hell.

Watching Alistair advance on Jo, he calls the demon off. "I'll do it," he says. "I'll do whatever it is you want." His voice catches and he nearly sobs. "Let her go. You have to let her go. Send her back. Get her away from me."


	13. Ch 12: Catch22

**A/N:** Still with me? Yeah, that last one...whoops...would you believe I'm cuckoo for cocoa puffs? Actually, you probably _would_ believe that. There's a reason I don't outline stories...I always end up deviating from the plan. This was no exception.

I hadn't planned to post until tomorrow. But **Silverspoon** had a craving, so...

**stephaniew** - Life is sunnier with you in it. Don't go nowhere, k?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Twelve: Catch-22

"_I'll do it," he says. "I'll do whatever it is you want." His voice catches and he nearly sobs. "Let her go. You have to let her go. Send her back. Get her away from me."_

Jo gulps for air. She can't breathe. She closes her eyes, her mouth draws into a tight line. Dean Winchester would be the death of her. Oh. Wait. He had. Twice.

The growl of the demon's voice is more animal-like than human. "Release him and bring me the girl.

Dean's body slams to the floor in a heap. He pushes himself up on an elbow, unable to get further when his wrist screams in pain from being held in a single position for so long. "Dammit, Alistair," he snarls. "We had a deal. Let'er go."

Alistair turns his head. A hiss escapes as he looks down at Dean. "Really, Dean," he asks. "Where has trusting demons has gotten you so far?"

Jo withdraws a pair of blades from beneath her jacket. So far, she'd been two for two on plans that worked. There was no guarantee that the demon blades, forged in the fires of Hell, would work on demon turf. Still she had to try. She had to lure as many as possible to the second trap.

Spinning, Jo slices into the advancing demons. She finds herself consumes and surrounded by their haunting laughter as they swirl around her. But nothing. There is no blood. It's as though the blades bounce off their thick hides.

Dean's eyes follow Jo and he forces himself up. He has to protect her. Has to save her the way he couldn't save her from the hellhounds in Carthage. He screams when he sees her disappear in a cloud of black smoke, only to watch as she frees herself from a second circle of flames.

She takes out the Dragoon a second time and presses her lips to the barrel. "Don't fail me now," she whispers. Taking the weapon, she charges, heading straight for Dean and the monster who watches him begin to stand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A breeze picks up in the yard. Bobby adjusts his trucker cap and Sam stares blankly down the long driveway.

A figure in a suit approaches, his trench coat billowing out behind him. He's exactly the way Dean described him. Right down to the empty expression in his bright blue eyes.

Sam crosses his arms. "Castiel?"

"Hello, Sam," the angel replies.

"We've been calling you for months," Sam says, his tone angry.

"I couldn't hear you," Cas answers glumly. "There's something wrong with my powers. I do not know what happened to me."

Bobby pushes his cap up. "An angel without his mojo, ain't that cute."

"Where is Joanna?" Cas asks suddenly. He looks around, seeing no sign of the woman he allowed Dean to pull down from Heaven. "Is she safe? They weren't supposed to end up here. They were supposed to..."

"She went to Hell after Dean," Sam explains.

Cas shakes his head and leans against a car. "This is very bad. Why did you let her go?"

Sam snickers. "You're unbelievable. You know that? My brother is suffering. In Hell. Again. And it's all your fault."

Bobby puts a hand on Sam's chest and pushes him away from the angel. "You obviously don't know those two chuckleheads terribly well if you didn't see this comin'," he answers with a sigh. "What're we gonna do? What's the plan?"

"Plan? There is no plan. I'm not strong enough to bring both of them back. Only Dean. I was only supposed to bring Dean back." Cas hangs his head in shame. He's a failure. First for sending them back so far, then for ripping them apart.

"Something," Sam mumbles as he heads toward the house. "We have to do something..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jo fires the weapon at Alistair. He freezes before spinning around and facing her. He opens his mouth in a howl, nothing becoming of her bullet. She fires again and again. Still nothing.

Alistair laughs darkly. The bullets have little effect on him. He barely feels their sting. He continues to step toward Jo. He couldn't wait to get his hands on Dean's prize. Oh, the pain and suffering he would render. Or, perhaps, he'd savor the sight of watching Dean torture her. Cutting into her pretty flesh again and again as she screamed and begged for mercy. Better still, perhaps he would plaster her face on everyone he forced Dean to torture. That would be a true treat.

_Pop. Pop. _The antique weapon recoils slightly in her hand. The glowing red eyes moving toward her are frightening. Jo pulls the trigger again.

_Click. Click. Click._ Out of bullets. This wasn't good. It couldn't possibly end well.

Dean dives at the demon, taking it down. He tackles it, using what strength he has to hold him.

Thinking quickly, Jo takes her paint and sprays a trap onto Alistair's chest. He screams as if burned by holy water. Closing her eyes, she wills herself to remember the Latin chant Sam taught her in the hours before she left.

Grabbing Dean's shoulder, Jo pulls him up behind her. "I'm so gonna kick your ass for this, Winchester," she huffs. "But that'll come later. We've gotta get to the gate."

Her touch burns away some of the insanity of this place, he covers her hand with his own. "Jo, I..."

"Not now, Dean," she answers. "Now we run."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam paces, slamming his book closed. "I got nothing," he says. "What do we have to do to recharge you?"

Cas sits on the edge of the couch with his elbows resting on his knees. He stares down at his hands.

"Hello? Cas?" Sam demands. "Would really like to have my brother back. Any ideas here?"

Bobby comes around to stand in front of his desk. Leaning against it, he folds his arms over his chest. "What've ya got?" he asks. "'Cause the look on your face says it's somethin'."

Cas looks up, his eyes flicking between the two men. "It's highly dangerous."

Sam joins Bobby on the edge of the desk. "Just spill it," he says. "Come on, Cas. We don't know if Jo made it to Dean. We're running on borrowed time here."

"Your soul," Cas answers.

"Angels make deals, too?" Sam asks. He had been willing to give himself over to a demon to save Dean, was this really so different?

"No," Cas deadpans. "I just need to touch it."

"Touch it?" Bobby asks. "That don't sound too dangerous."

Cas sighs. "It's painful and potentially very harmful. I have to do it slowly and carefully. Otherwise you might explode..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They reach the gate and Jo sticks sticks the barrel of the gun into the slot. She listens carefully as the lock begins to tumble on its own.

"Once it opens, we have to get through. We'll have to pull it shut and lock it back before anything gets out," she tells him.

Dean nods, his hand gripping the metal in preparation. He makes it through, but something holds Jo back. He reaches for her, slipping an arm around her and pressing his palm to the skin of her lower back as he pulls her along with him.

He slams the door shut and holds it, a thin arm snaking out and reaching towards Jo as she fumbles with the lock. Her hands shake. She's thrown backwards and he hurries to finish the task before running to her.

Folding his arms around her, he presses his lips to her face. Desperate and hungry, he seeks her mouth. "Dammit, Jo," he whispers, clinging to her. "I'd have made it back."

"I wasn't willing to wait," she answers, her arms winding around his neck. She holds him, her fingers tangling in his hair. "What the hell was that back there?" she chastises, pushing him away momentarily. "When you said..."

Dean smirks. "Got me off the rack, didn't it?"

A flutter of wings signifies that they're no longer alone.

"Hello, Cas," Dean chuckles. "Nice of you to join the party..."


	14. Ch 13: Long Road to Home

**A/N: **I had trouble with formatting when I loaded this one on the site...hopefully it'll look alright. Only four chapters left...and a couple more surprises in store!

I'm not too proud to beg. I'm sick and could really use the pick-me-up. Brighten my day and tell me what you think? Please?

Many, many thanks and great big Dean hugs to pal and beta **stephaniew**. She's an amazing person, writer and friend. Check out some of her stories and join me in supporting her work.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Thirteen: Long Road to Home

It's dark. Dark and cramped. Dean feels something heavy on his chest and coughs as he tries to take air into his lungs. His hands slide over another body. A female body. A body he knows almost as intimately as his own though they've only been together a handful of times.

"Jo?" he whispers. He presses his lips to her forehead, but she doesn't move. He feels for her pulse, struggles to see if she's breathing.

Neither of them would be breathing for long. Not if he didn't bust them out of the pine box they were buried in. He grins when he finds that, this time, he's prepared. He has tools. Sammy thought of everything.

He fights. This time not only for himself, but for Jo. She needs air. And he needs to be able to see the face of the woman who saved him.

Light streams so brightly that he closes his eyes, squinting against the sun's invasion. His chest burns as he sucks in fresh air. He drags Jo's limp form from the coffin and hauls her into his arms and the safety of his embrace. For a moment, he just sits there. Happy to be alive. Happier to be alive with Jo.

Water. She probably needed water. The gas station was less than a mile away. Surely he could carry her that far.

A phone. He checks all of their pockets. No cell phone. Maybe Sam _hadn't_ thought of everything. Not that the damn battery would've held a charge that long.

Pressing one last kiss to her cheek, Dean hoists Jo into his arms and cradles her as her head hangs loosely against his shoulder. "Hold on, babe," he whispers. "I'm gonna get you outta here..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Maybe I should drive out there, Bobby," Sam says, flexing his fingers as he sits at the kitchen table. He's jittery. His knees bounce like a five year old on a sugar rush. "They gotta be back by now..."

"Be patient, kid. This was the first place that idjiot brother of yours came the last time, I'm sure he'll come here again."

The old man busies himself with straightening up the kitchen. He tucks dishes away and runs water in the sink. He's nervous, too. But he's got to keep calm. He's got to stay reasonable. It's quiet. Too quiet. And then he hears the screen door slam.

Unable to take it any longer, Sam gets behind the wheel of the Impala. He sets the car in the direction of his brother's grave. He follows his heart. He has to. He has to hope that everything will be alright.

There's a _whoosh_ and the seat next to him is filled. He nearly runs the car off the road.

"Hello, Sam," Cas says softly. Though his coat is wrinkled, the angel seems to be in far better condition than the last time he appeared.

"Cas," he answers, gripping the wheel. He forces a smile. "Did you do it? Were you able to bring both of them back?"

The angel's voice is steady, but slightly unsure. "I believe so. Yes."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The abandoned station within his sights, Dean shifts Jo's weight. It's not about him. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it never should have been. She had made sacrifices and taken chances for him. She hadn't asked for anything, she'd just given freely.

This go round, he's going to take care of her. You rarely get a do-over, one extra chance to make good on something you messed up, much less two. He isn't going to waste it.

He gets her out of the blistering sun and sets her carefully against an empty snack rack. Water. They needed water. He reaches into one of the abandoned coolers and grabs a bottle before making his way back.

He casts a glance down at Jo and his heart stops. As he looks down at the checkerboard tiles, the pattern seemingly swirling beneath his feet, his stomach churns. She's whole and alive in front of him, but all he can see is blood pooling on the floor.

The whole thing is surreal. It's beyond belief. Being here again. This time with Jo. That she came for him. Came for him when it was far more than he deserved. That he had quite possibly lost her all over again.

Sliding behind her, he supports her against his chest. Hands shaking, he opens the bottle and pours several tiny capfuls of water into her mouth. He gulps from the plastic jug himself before placing it to the side.

He tilts his head against the shelf at his back, a tear dribbling from his eye as he holds her tightly. His fingers tangle in her hair and he leans to brush his lips over hers. He does so tenderly, but with increasing urgency and longing.

Nothing happens. Not a whimper or a sigh. She doesn't magically kiss him back. Figures his life isn't a goddam fairy tale. He'll never be confused with Prince Charming...but he could at least make her comfortable.

Dean gets up, carefully placing Jo's head against a roll of paper towels, he lays her gently on her back. Walking to the bathroom, he splashes cool water on his face. He runs water over paper towels and lays them over the edge of the sink for Jo.

He's about to leave - about to go back to the blonde he left lying on the floor - when curiosity gets the better of him. As he had before, he lifts his t-shirt to discover he bears no scars. None except the one. But it's different. Smaller somehow.

Grabbing the damp cloths, he sprints back to Jo. He grabs her hand and places it on his shoulder. It's a match. Her tiny hand fits perfectly over the mottled bit of skin. Tears of joy tumble from his eyes as he hauls her into his arms.

That's when he sees it. In the mirror hanging in the corner, the kind used to prevent shoplifting and give the person at the register a view of the entire store. Jo's t-shirt has ridden up to bare the small of her back.

He's not the only one who bears a mark. A brand of being rescued from the fires of Hell. Not the only one with a raised pink scar on his body. He slides his hand over it and realizes the print is his own. Right down to the slight ridge of the ring he wears daily.

"Joanna appears to have altered history," a voice says from behind him.

Dean spins around. "Cas?"

Seeing his brother behind the angel, he lowers Jo carefully and stands to embrace Sam. The brothers share a fierce hug, happy to share the same earthly plane once again. Dean's eyes find Sam's and his brow furrows. "Ruby?"

Sam grins. "One-way ticket back to Hell."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "No demon blood?"

Sam shakes his head. "No demon blood."

The brothers turn, watching as Castiel takes a knee and touches Jo's face. "I don't understand," he says, his brow puckering in confusion. "This is quite unusual."

"Don't just stand there," Dean barks commandingly. "Fix her."

"I'm afraid I can't," the angel answers in cool monotone. "Not yet."

"What? Why?" Dean questions, his face falling. "Is she gonna be okay? Please, Cas..."

The two men come eye to eye. Knowing his brother - seeing the look in his eyes - Sam keeps his distance but stays close enough to intervene if necessary.

Unexpectedly, Dean's lip quivers slightly. "Please. I know I've asked you for a lot, man. I just...I need to know she'll be okay."

"If I repair her life force now, I may not have the strength to take you back," Cas says. "I've already put our friends in enough danger to lift you both from perdition."

"What about Jo? Huh, Cas?" Dean growls. "Was it all for nothing?"

Cas looks at the female hunter. "We need to get her back," he says. "Her spirit is divided here. We need to restore the balance. Take her to a time when she's the only Joanna Beth Harvelle."

"Heaven?" Dean asks. "You mean take her back to Heaven?"

"Well, no," Cas answers, uncertainty playing across the features of his vessel. "Joanna altered the plan by getting you through Hell's gate before I found you. There are untold ripples. I..."

Dean runs a hand through his hair. "That's great. Just great!"

Sam scoops Jo into his arms. "Let's just go. We'll figure this out."

"I have to take them back, Sam," Cas states plainly. "To the future. No matter what it holds."


	15. Ch 14: Interlude: Word of God

**A/N:** Many thanks to pal and beta **stephaniew**. She's got a bunch of great stuff...check her out if you haven't already! Her latest _Where We Belong_ is something special.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Fourteen: Interlude - Word of God

I watch as Castiel returns Dean and Joanna to 2010. They're settled safely into place when I close my eyes and call him before me. It's time to give him the story. Time to give him some answers.

I won't tell him everything. I won't tell him about the war that could have taken place here or the deal he could have made with Crowley. I won't tell him how he would've chosen not to ask Dean for help - help Dean would have willingly and readily given. I'll leave out the bitterness and betrayal of his heavenly brothers and how he would have been the one to try and replace me.

It's not that I feel the need to keep it from him. It's not that I fear it'd be putting ideas into his head. He's a good soldier. He believes in my work and my plans. That's why he would've taken things to the extreme, attempting to make order out of what he saw as chaos.

The way things could have happened is irrelevant. It's unimportant. It's the underlying lesson that matters. Love - whether it's the love between two brothers, friends or the romantic kind - truly does conquer all. Truly caring for someone - being willing to make a sacrifice for their happiness - something greater can happen. Something that can change an outcome completely.

I smile when he comes in, curious as to what his reaction will be. I lean back in my desk chair, allowing him to look me over as he approaches, watching as the expression on his face changes.

"Father," he says. His voice and posture are apprehensive. "You summoned me?"

I nod. I can see in the darkening depths of his blue eyes that I'm not what he was expecting. It's precisely the reason I chose this form...and why I have allowed only a limited number of my children to see me this way.

"You've done good work, Castiel," I reassure him.

His brow furrows and he cocks his head to the side. "But I didn't save him," he tells me. "I was too late."

Walking around the desk, I put my arm around him. "Walk with me," I say as I lead him out into the garden I know he favors. We watch as the kite sails in the gentle breeze. "A man - or in this case, woman - chooses his own destiny. There are very few things that are truly preordained."

"I don't understand," he replies.

The thing about angels is that they are often like children. Things have to be broken down and explained because they're only capable of seeing things in black and white. I smile. It's one of the things I love about them. Their innocence makes them special.

"Joanna was never meant to die in that hardware store," I answer. "She wasn't supposed to die there because she wasn't meant to be there in the first place. Neither was Dean."

We sit on the edge of a rock, our shoulders touching. We watch in silence as the autistic man continues to tug at the string of the kite.

"Then why?" he asks after pondering the news.

Clamping a hand on his shoulder, I look into his blue eyes and tell him the truth. I give him the piece of information I suspect will only bring further questions. Questions I don't ever want to answer because I know they will break his spirit.

"You, Castiel," I tell him. "They were there to save you."

**A/N: **And then there were three...


	16. Ch 15: Sweet Home South Dakota?

**A/N:** I hate myself for the long delay. I was in a car accident several months ago and I've been dealing with a back injury. The side effects of the medications my orthopedist put me on have limited my brain power...but as I type this, 16 and 17 are all done except for editing! Further delays should be minimal, if any!

**stephaniew** - have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate all you do for me? Because it's true...and the only thing keeping me sane as we near the end of this story is knowing you'll be around for the next one and the one after.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Fifteen: Sweet Home...South Dakota?

_December 2010_

The old radio in the Impala crackles to life. _"...Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more..."_

Dean startles awake in the front seat of his beloved car, his head pressed against the cool glass of the driver's window. Everything is white. He rubs his eyes and watches as the feathery flakes drift in the breeze outside. "Jo?"

He looks around, spying the young hunter curled up asleep on the bench seat behind him. Blonde curls spread in a halo beneath her head. Her cheeks pink. She's peaceful.

With a smile, he steers the car onto the road and begins to look for signs. They aren't far from Bobby's, maybe 30 miles or so, which is good given the snowfall.

He notices the sign when he pulls into the scrap yard. "B&E Salvage?" he mumbles to himself. "Since when..."

Dean shakes his head, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling open. Christmas lights hang from the porch and a tree shimmers in the front window. "What is this? What the hell's goin' on around here?"

The screen door opens and a brunette hurries out toward the car. He's opening his door as the one for the back seat opens. A chill races down Dean's spine when he recognizes her.

"What have y'all gotten into this time?" Ellen laughs as she tries to rouse Jo from her slumber.

"Ellen..." Dean mumbles. The older woman is vibrant. Her weathered skin glows in the soft light from the porch and the moon.

"Don't just stand there, boy," she commands. "Let's get our girl inside before she freezes to death. I swear..."

He stands motionless, unable to do anything but stare. It's not possible. She's dead. She isn't real. Only Jo. That was the deal.

"Get your ass in gear, Winchester," Ellen bites with a frown. "And close your mouth before you catch a demon."

Dean wraps his arms around Jo and lifts her from the car. He follows Ellen up the steps and into the kitchen. She chatters away at him, but he doesn't hear a word she says. He's too busy taking...everything...in.

The room is somehow brighter. It looks different. Cleaner. But it's more than that. It _smells_ different. Like home cooked food. Not canned beans or chili. His stomach growls. Loudly.

Ellen chuckles. "Some things never change. Get Jo settled and I'll fix you a plate."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He's not sure how he knows what room to go to when he gets to the top of the stairs. But as soon as he opens the door, he knows it's the right one. The walls are buttery in color. The linens on the bed look soft, if well-worn.

It's the little details that get his attention. A pair of men's boots at the foot of the dresser. A lavender bra - one he's certain would perfectly encase Jo's body - dangles from a knob of one of the drawers. Loose change and his lighter rest on the night table, nestled around a silver picture frame.

The photo is a candid shot, the couple blissfully unaware their picture was being taken. She sits in his lap, her hand on his chest as if she playfully swatted him for something he said. One big palm rests flat against her thigh next to a discarded book Dean recognizes from Bobby's library, the other is curled against a spot on her back - a spot it's drawn to even now. They beam at each other, undeniably happy and very much in love.

Dean lays Jo down, carefully resting her head against the pillows before removing her boots. He pulls the faded throw from the foot of the bed over her. Hesitant to leave, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other before leaning down and skimming his lips over her forehead.

He needs to figure this out. For both of them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The front door is swinging open as Dean reaches the hallway. He hears laughter and the familiar tone of his brother's voice. "Sammy!"

Sam grins and is nearly knocked over as Dean's arms go around him. "Dude!" he yelps. "I think you're going soft! What's with the chick-flick greeting? You act like we haven't seen each other in years."

In Dean's mind they haven't. Time travel. Reliving Hell. All of it. It's been too long. When he gets his wits about him, he notices his brother isn't alone. "Sam, you sly dog, you! Somebody's been busy!"

Sarah looks from where Dean's hand has landed on her expanding belly up to her husband. She mouths the words _is he alright?_ as Sam moves to take her coat. "I'm gonna let you two...catch up," she says quietly. Leaning up, she brushes her lips over Sam's. "I could use a snack..."

Sam nods and waits for her to leave before placing a big hand on his brother's shoulder. His brows furrowing, he says, "You're freaking me out."

"Dude, you're _married_?" Dean says, his face screwing up in confusion.

"Uh, yeah," he answers, raising his left hand. "For almost two years now. You were my best man. Jo was a bridesmaid. Sarah still hasn't forgiven you guys for what happened to the cake..."

Dean smirks. He tingles as a memory floods his vision. Jo sitting on the edge of a buffet table in a little purple cocktail number. Cake in her hair and on the back of her dress. His mouth on her neck. More than just his hands under her skirt, stroking against her soft skin. He stiffens at the thought.

"You idjits done reminiscing?" Bobby calls from the study.

They stroll in to find him pouring whiskey. Dean does a double take. Bobby's standing. There's no sign of the wheelchair. His head spins. Another thing he asked for - Bobby's legs.

"Go easy on the booze, old man," Ellen hollers from the kitchen. "It's your turn to do the dishes."

Bobby rolls his eyes and pushes his hat back. "Why'd I marry her again?" he asks Sam.

"I heard that!" she yells.

Dean crosses his arms. "We're in the middle of an Apocalypse and y'all managed to find time to get hitched?" He shakes his head, his mouth curling down into a scowl. "That's awesome."

Bobby sets his glass down and grabs Dean by the shoulders. Concern filling his gaze, he asks, "You alright, son?"

"Apocalypse? Dean, what's goin' on?" Sam adds.

"You and me as Lucifer and Michael's meat suits? The Horsemen?" Dean says. "Jo and Ellen..." his voice trails off. The Harvelle women are here. They're alive. He scrubs a hand over his face as he discovers the reality. "It didn't... None of it..."

"You aren't makin' a lick of sense, boy," Bobby replies as he takes a drink.

"I'm sort of out of the loop," Sam tells Dean. "I haven't hunted since..." It's been a long time. So much has changed, not like they talk about what happened. He shakes it off and sinks to the edge of Bobby's desk. "Since that case we worked not too long after you and Jo came back..."

Sarah walks into the room and laces her arms around Sam's neck. Resting against his knee, she looks at Dean. "Sam got hurt," she says, picking up the story. "You and Jo sent him to find me." She touches his face. "Said you wanted him to be as happy as the two of you are."

Sam draws Sarah's fingers to his mouth and kisses them. "And I am," he tells her, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I am, too..." She says, drawing his hand to her belly.

Ellen stands in the doorway. Leaning against the jam, she watches the way they all interact. It's nice to have everyone under one roof again, even if her baby girl is up in bed rather than with them. A smile touches her lips as she waves a hand to flag Dean toward the table. "Cm'on before your supper gets cold."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The chair scrapes the worn linoleum as he pulls it out. He smiles gratefully as Ellen places a plate filled with ham, potatoes and greens in front of him. She gives him a biscuit and some butter before slipping into the chair across the table.

Dean eats quietly. He shovels into the food quickly. The sweet and salty taste of the ham makes his mouth water. The potatoes and beans are equally appetizing. He can't remember the last time anything tasted so good. So _real_.

"You're gonna make yourself sick," Ellen scolds. She looks at him. He's different somehow, but he's the same man she knows is in love with Jo.

He almost chokes when she broaches the question everyone else has already. It's different coming from her, probably because it isn't just about him this time. "You okay, Dean? Is everything alright with Jo?"

Dean freezes. His fork clatters to the plate. Another memory sneaks in. This isn't the first time he and Ellen have been alone in this kitchen. The last time, he'd asked her for something special. His throat constricts as he remembers the threat of castration if he messed up, but his heart pounds at the answer. His arms ache at the ferocity of a hug.

He stands, nearly knocking over his chair. Not being with Jo now feels...wrong. "You know, I should go check on her..."

"Dean," Ellen calls him back into the room. Taking his hand, she presses an object into his palm. Her voice filled with pride, she reminds him, "You know how much she hates hunting in this..."


	17. Ch 16: Sleeping Beauty

**A/N: **Are you reading **WhoNatural**'s _Communications_? You should be. It's fabulous and she doesn't get nearly the support she deserves. Check it out and show her some love. She's the reason I'm nervous about this chapter - it pales in comparison to what she did with hers.

When I wrote _Why Dean Didn't Need Zeppelin IV_, **Silverspoon** asked if Dean could believe in happy endings. Steph and I laughed because this had been in the works back then and I was eager for Sam to see it. Sam - hope this makes you smile and that you feel better soon!

God - or should I say Chuck? - bless **stephaniew** for putting up with me and helping see this story through. I've had a rough go recently and I lost faith but Steph never stopped believing in me or _Heaven/Hell_. I don't know what I'd do without her...and I hope I never have to find out.

*sniffles* Only one more to go after this. It'll go up some time Saturday unless I'm persuaded otherwise...

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._ Memory portion taken from _Simon Said._

Chapter Sixteen: Sleeping Beauty

Dean sits on the edge of the old ladder-back chair. He leans toward the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and pulling the well-loved flannel of his shirt taut across the tense muscles of his back. He watches the gentle rise and fall of Jo's chest, waiting for some sign she'll awaken. A sign she's still with him.

Though it's only been hours, the absence of her touch shakes him as though they've been apart for years. Seeing her like this is almost worse than when she was gone from his life completely. He needs to feel their connection. Needs to see the love shining in her eyes. Needs something to quell the burning emptiness that rages within his heart the longer he's without her.

He gets a far away look in his eyes and smiles. Reaching out, he threads his fingers with hers on the edge of the afghan. He remembers a time not too long after they first met. Remembers watching her move fluidly around the Roadhouse, collecting glassware and restoring order to the old bar. He remembers the way she stood in front of the old jukebox, the ties of her apron dangling over her denim-clad backside. The notes of what he now knows to be her favorite song filling his ears.

_"What?" Jo asked, hand falling on her hip and brow furrowing when she caught the look on his face._

_Eyebrows raised, he tilted his glass toward the neon glow and answered. "REO Speedwagon?"_

_"Damn right, REO," she snapped, moving toward his table. "Kevin Cronin sings it from the heart."_

_Crinkling his eyes, Dean replied. "He sings it from the hair." He lifted his glass and gave Jo a snarky smile. "There's a difference."_

_Ignoring the barb, she tossed a look over her shoulder to see if Ellen was paying attention before changing the subject. "That profile you've got Ash looking for?"_

_"Hmm?" _

_She proceeded with caution, her voice slightly shy. "Your mom died the same way, didn't she? A fire in Sam's nursery?"_

_He leaned heavily on the table in front of him, trying to be firm but kind. "Look, Jo, it's kinda a family thing."_

_"I could help," she offered, her blonde curls bouncing as she nodded her head._

_"I'm sure you could, but we gotta handle this one ourselves," he gave her a little smile and a wink. "Besides, I think if I ran off with you, your mother might kill me." Across the room, Ellen frowned and Dean tossed a nod at her._

_Jo's eyes widened. "You're afraid of my mother?"_

_Dean's smile is stiff. "I think so..."_

He scrubs his hand over his jaw and rubs the back of his neck. "Your mom still scares me..."

Jo's head rests on the pillow, honey-colored curls gleaming against the white of the case. Her cheeks are a dusty shade of pink that gives evidence to the life left within her. Still, she doesn't answer.

He pulls the shining, gold band from his pocket and holds it so the tiny diamond catches fire, sparkling in the soft light of the room. "Baby, I don't know how we got here. I don't know how I managed to convince Ellen..."

He sits on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he presses his lips to her forehead. His fingers stroking into the coils of her hair, he sighs as his mouth brushes over hers. "Jo, please, honey," he murmurs, a tear escaping and falling onto her cheek. "Wake up."

A brilliant flash of white explodes from the far corner of the room. Temporarily blinded, Dean struggles to put himself between Jo and the illumination. Struggles to protect her. To keep her safe. To keep her with him.

"Dean," comes a familiar voice as his vision begins to normalize. A man steps forward, a smile spreading across his bearded face as he reaches up to adjust the horn-rimmed glasses that perch on his nose.

Dean startles as his eyesight clears. "Chuck?"

"Surprise," he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a grin.

"You're..." Dean's mouth hangs open. "I thought you were a..."

Chuck's brows lift and he snickers softly. "The Lord works in mysterious ways."

Dean's knees fail him and he slumps onto the bed.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he says softly. "I'm sorry it had to be this way."

"Sorry?" Dean growls, his eyes narrowing. "You're sorry?" He doesn't care that it's blasphemous. Doesn't care that he's in the presence of God.

"This is bigger than you know," Chuck begins, his face drawn and serious. "Joanna stopped the Apocalypse. More importantly, Dean, she..."

Dean snorts. "Listen, Chuck..." he pauses, "Or God, or whatever I'm supposed to call you." He flourishes with his hand, his face twisted in a scowl. "I'm fine with being your pawn, okay? But why Jo, huh?"

Chuck sighs. "For you, Dean," he answers. "She had to die for you to see her. You had to want her to live. You had to want her to be with you at any cost."

"But..." Dean stammers. His mouth hangs open. He can't quite wrap his brain around the information being thrown at him.

"No buts, Dean," he answers. "Joanna loved you with her last breath. She loved you enough to blow the hounds back to Hell. She loved you enough to sacrifice everything - even her body - to give you a chance. She saved you."

Chuck sighs and steps closer to the sleeping woman. He touches Jo's forehead, rubbing his thumb up to her hairline before sliding his hand down the side of her face. "Things are as they should've been now. How they would've been if you'd gone to her when you made the deal to save Sam."

Dean gulps, his eyes filling with tears as he looks at Jo. "How was I supposed to know I'd come back? That she wanted me in the first place."

Chuck smiles. Dean still carries the weight of the world. Still doesn't think he's deserving. "It doesn't matter," he says softly. "None of it matters."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Dean asks sharply, tearing his gaze away from Jo's face.

Chuck stares into the piercing green of Dean's eyes. "Faith, Dean. Have faith." A smile breaks across his face. "Things are finally how they should be."

"What are we supposed to do? We don't remember the lives we had. The life we built together," Dean's brow furrows. They had fallen into the relationship he hadn't dared to dream of yet, at the same time, lost so much.

"About that," Chuck sighs, his hand falling to Dean's shoulder. "It was unavoidable. You'll remember all of it eventually."

Eyebrows practically at his hairline, Dean repeats the words even as a strange sense of comfort fills him. "Unavoidable? Eventually?"

"So many things changed when she saved you," he answers. "And I had to send you here to ensure that nothing else rippled."

Dean holds up the ring. "What about this? What about everything Ellen and Bobby and Sam think is true?"

"The memories? All the things you think you've forgotten or missed? They're in your hearts." He tilts his head and observes Dean's expression. "You're already starting to find them."

"Nearly losing Sam? The wedding cake? Talking to Ellen?" he asks, his voice breaking. "That really happened? The flashes were memories?"

"The future is yours, Dean. Consider this a down payment on the happiness you and Joanna both deserve for the sacrifices you've made."

Dean's outstretched hand falls against his knee and he looks over his shoulder at the beautiful hunter resting peacefully. He gulps and blows out a shaky breath. His heart pounds in his chest. "She doesn't have to go back?"

"No, Dean," Chuck answers softly, shaking his head. "I haven't come to take her. And no one else will for many years."

His eyes flicker back to the deity standing beside him. "You mean..."

"All of that changed when Jo willingly went to Hell to bring you back," Chuck answers. "This brave woman saved you and countless others - including Castiel - with her actions."

Dean's lip quivers slightly. He still has trouble believing she would come for him. Believing she would take such a risk. Believing _he _is worthy of it.

Chuck clamps a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's okay to believe, Dean," he tells him gently. "It had to happen this way for you to trust it."

Dean feels warmth and love spreading through his chest. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he feels truly at peace. He looks up into Chuck's eyes and watches as he nods and steps away from them.

"Miracles _do _happen, Dean. The answer to prayers isn't always what we expect." With a loving smile, Chuck moves back to the corner he appeared in. Continuing, he delivers the rest of his message. He says words that leave Dean's doubts melting like the wax of a brightly burning candle, the flame of hope taking hold and lighting the way toward the future. "In this case, the prayers of a man from Kansas searching for forgiveness and relief were answered by a young woman from Nebraska who wanted nothing more than to love him."

Dean opens his mouth and closes it again. He falters. The words don't come.

Chuck shakes his head. "There are still monsters that will need to be fought. It won't always be easy. But life _is_ what you make of it," he says, brilliant white light spreading behind him. "Cherish what you've been given and be the man we both know you are."

As he prepares to leave, prepares at walk back into the glow he turns. With a wide grin, he instructs, "Kiss her again, Dean. Kiss her the way you wanted to in that hardware store. The way you would have if Sam and Ellen hadn't been watching."

Dean looks down at Jo - feels the gravitational pulls of her lips - but he still has questions. "Chuck, wait..."

The light rapidly fades to a tiny spark and dwindles away. He's too late. Chuck's already gone.


	18. Ch 17: Bless the Broken Road

**A/N: **I apologize in advance for the epic length of this note, but there are some special thank-yous I need to make. Please bear with me...

**Silverspoon **and **WelshWitch1011** - Thank you for encouraging me to join this part of the Supernatural fandom. The two of you weave a magic spell with every story you write and give us Dean/Jo writers something to strive for. You are truly an inspiration to us all!

**WhoNatural **- Thank you for taking time away from your story to share in my journey. Know that I'm very much looking forward to supporting you as you continue yours. You've got something really amazing going...hope to see more from you soon!

**cheekymonster2 **and **angeleyenc** - Thank you both for jumping on the roller coaster and taking this ride with me. Your support and encouragement means a lot.

**Heatherlina** - Thank you for sharing your thoughts and giving me an extra confidence boost when my feathers got ruffled. Looking forward to more of _What Was Lost May Be Found_!

**CFEditor** - Thank you for catching the little things - technically and creatively.

**celeste301** - Sweetie, I maintain you are quite possibly my biggest fan. Thank you for all your support and for being a ray of sunshine no matter what the world throws at you!

**stephaniew** - Steph, whether you believe it or not, this one is as much yours as it is mine. When I set out to start writing it, we butted heads and you pushed me to do something different...something I think turned out pretty special. I can only hope you are as proud of it as I am. I am truly humbled by your friendship and patience. Thank you for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself...

Finally, thank you to everyone who has followed this story and included it in their favorites. It's always going to have a special place in my heart and I'm thrilled it earned your attention.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter Seventeen: Bless the Broken Road

Dean's tongue drifts along his lower lip and he sighs. He'd never be confused with a knight in shining armor. His life isn't a fairy tale. And yet...he can't help but wonder 'what if'...

Bracing himself over her with one hand against the mattress, his palm slides against the softness of her cheek. His adam's apple bobs reflexively as he leans in close. Their noses brush. His lips touch hers softly and with infinite care. They move reverently, sucking gently, his tongue flickering in a barely-there caress.

Dean feels a featherlight touch on the back of his neck as her head lifts from the pillow and he shifts away. His eyes open and he drowns in the milk chocolate puddles of hers.

With a grin Jo drags him back for another kiss, her fingers curling into his hair as his caress her neck. It's hungry and he whimpers when she brushes her tongue against his. Sighing, she presses their foreheads together and clings to him. She smiles, her voice quiet, "It wasn't a dream?"

He takes the hand resting against his chest and kisses the tips of her fingers. "No," he murmurs. Reaching behind her, he adjusts the pillows and helps her recline against the headboard. "It wasn't."

Jo's heart pounds in her ears as she looks at him. She struggles to catch her breath when she notes his serious expression.

He squeezes her hand. It's a gesture meant to comfort. Meant to reassure her. But he's new at this. He doesn't know quite how to handle the emotional power surge that's overtaking him. His words plain, he speaks, "There are some things you need to know..."

Jo sits up, her hands flying to her open mouth. "Oh, God," she cries, "I have to go back?"

The corner of his mouth twitches and he smiles. "No, babe. One, I wouldn't let it happen. Two, I have it on good authority the Big Guy wants you to keep my sorry ass in line."

He waits for her to relax. He shifts to face her, moving further onto the bed as he continues to hold her hand. "You changed history, Harvelle," he says with no small amount of pride. "By saving me from Hell, you kept me from breaking the first seal. Sam..."

"Is he okay? What about Bobby? What day is it?" she moves to get up. "Dean, I have to change clothes. We've got to fight..."

He pulls her back. "No, Jo, we don't." He steadies her, hands resting on her arms as she struggles. A grin spreads across his face as he reveals the truth, "You prevented the Apocalypse. We don't have to worry about being Michael and Lucifer's meat suits."

Jo blinks rapidly. "Sam and Bobby?"

Dean nods. "Are fine," he laughs. "But it's even bigger."

She struggles to think clearly. She pushes her hair back from her face, confusion marring her delicate features. "Don't just sit there grinning, Deano," she scolds. "Tell me!"

Inching closer, he kisses her. His arms wind around her and his tongue teases at her mouth. He breathes her in. Somehow, nothing is more important than being with her. Not even sharing news of the other hunters.

"Dammit, Dean!" she groans. "Quit trying to distract me! What's going on?"

"Sam's married. To a girl he met on a case we worked before we met you. They're having a baby..." The story tumbles out. He tells her about the pictures. About how they stood up for Sam and Sarah. About how they were going to be godparents.

Jo sees the twinkle in Dean's eye. She becomes suspicious. "That's not everything," she says. "I can see it on your face. You're as bad as a toddler."

Dean's mouth quirks upward. "Bobby's married, too."

Jo laughs and joins in Dean's smile. "Who'd marry Bobby? We love him, but he's a crusty old fart," she tells him. "I just don't see..."

He takes her hands. "Jo, brace yourself." His voice soft and eyes shining, he tells her, "Bobby married Ellen."

She gasps. "Ellen? As in my _mother_?"

He merely nods.

"Mom's alive?" she asks, tears streaming over her cheeks. "And she married Bobby?"

"Surprised me, too," he answers. "But they're happy." He strokes his thumb over her hand. "You changed everything."

"Everything?" she whispers. Pushing the covers down, she pulls up the edge of her shirt expecting to see the silvery scars that tore across her abdomen. Her skin is perfect. Soft and pale, she bears no markings of her former life.

Dean reaches out and touches her. Together, their hands slide over her smooth flesh. "It's you and me now. We hunt together. We have for years. Sam went back to school. He helps Sarah run the gallery now."

She bites her lip. "Are you okay with that?" she asks shyly. "Are we happy that way?"

He shrugs, his mouth drawing into a careless expression. "We must be..."

She sighs and he sees the trepidation in her eyes. "But how can you know for sure? Do you remember? What was it like, Dean? I don't..."

He touches her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb when she leans into his palm. "I know we don't have their memories..."

"But it's not _them_," she reminds him, her voice raising. "It's _us_. We don't remember anything from the last two and a half years!"

Dean's eyes drop to the blanket. A memory flashes in front of him. A memory of being dirty and happy. A memory of chasing Jo through the house and into the bathroom. A memory of slowly stripping each other bare as laughter faded into a passionate kiss. His lips tingle in response. He can almost _feel_ it.

"What?" she asks, seeing the smile bloom on his face. Her brow furrows.

"The memories will come back, Jo," he tells her, his tone fierce and filled with conviction. "Hell, we'll even make new ones..."

"You don't know that," she chokes. "We've lost so much time..."

Dean tilts Jo's face up to his. His lips brush over hers gently. It's a feather-light gesture that warms him down to his very soul. He feels his heart begin to soar in his chest. Feels it pound in his ribcage. "You have to trust me," he breathes against her mouth.

"I don't know what's real anymore," she voices. The sound is almost a sob and her sadness eats away at him. He wants her to believe. Wants her to feel everything he does.

"Do you love me?" he asks quietly. Her eyes are the color of bourbon and nearly as wet. He searches them for answers. Pleads for her to see everything she needs to know in his gaze.

"Yes," she murmurs. Her voice strong and unwavering. Her feelings for him are the one thing that hasn't changed. "Yes, I do. More than anything."

Dean swallows the emotion that fills his throat. "I love you," he tells her. "And I want to be with you. Just you, Jo. No one else."

There's a swirl of feelings storming in the deep green of his eyes. She sees possibilities and feels her heart clench. She wonders if she can have it all. A hunting partnership. Love. Time to learn what she's missed.

Dean digs in his pocket. His fingers close over the tiny piece of jewelry. He has to explain it. Knows there will be too many questions otherwise. But it's more than that. So much more. He may not remember how it went down the first time. He certainly never thought he'd ever be _here_. That he'd ever ask any woman, let alone Jo, to marry him.

The room is quiet. Everything is incredibly still. She picks at a piece of pulled thread on the aging blanket. She needs time. Time to think. Time to take it all in. To adjust to her new life. The new chance she's been given.

"There's one other thing," he tells her, shaking his head. "You're not going to believe it. When Ellen told me, I..."

"What? What else has changed? What else have we missed?" She's angry. Confused. But both of these things go unnoticed.

"Marry me, Jo," he says suddenly. "Marry me because it's what everyone wants. Marry me because it's what _I _want."

Jo's eyes go wide. For a moment, she just stares at him. Then she sees it. The flicker of what can only be described as hope in his eyes as he takes the glimmering band with its tiny but meaningful stone and lets it hover over her trembling ring finger.

She doesn't know what to say. How to even begin to respond. Neither of them have the answers. They don't know what lies ahead of them any more than they know what lies in the space between Hell and this second. She's scared. More scared than she was when she followed him into the darkness.

"C'mon, Jo," he says with a lopsided grin. "Just say yes."

She stumbles to find the words. To somehow make him understand. "Dean, I... We..."

* * *

><p><strong><em>To be continued...<em>**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Yes. I am, in fact, evil. I'm working on a sequel titled _History in the Making_ that I hope to debut early 2012. I hope you'll join me for the next installment to discover Jo's answer to Dean's proposal...and the surprising news Gabe has for her.

Until next time...


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